


Young Blood Remix

by ShadowcrestNightingale



Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Changing Life Directions, Child Abuse, Corruption, Drinking, Found Family, Gambling, Gen, References to Drugs, Self-Discovery, Smoking, Trust, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, awkward moments, fostering, unlikely friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 58,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27385597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowcrestNightingale/pseuds/ShadowcrestNightingale
Summary: Everything in life is a game of chance. In this AU, Jet, as a young beat cop with an undistinguished career, is sent to Mars to assist in an investigation of a Purple-eye smuggling operation. In the mean streets of Deseado crater he crosses paths with a hard luck young boy. When Spike's only shelter in the storm is taken from him by a raid, Jet can't leave the boy to his certain fate. What starts as a moment of compassion staggers toward a working partnership as Spike learns to trust another human being for the first time in half of his life, and Jet sees the promise of a new course for the boy if someone would give him the chance. In a world of backstabbers and betrayal, two unlikely friends forge a new path together.
Comments: 132
Kudos: 27





	1. Session 1

**Author's Note:**

> Though it utilizes some of the same elements, this story stands apart from the Darkwave Chronicles in that it explores the question: what if Jet had come across Spike when he was a kid and teamed up with him before he'd been recruited by the syndicate by Mao? In Diving Deep Into the Night I dropped a nightmarish scene with Jet encountering a juvenile Spike. The scene became an irresistible scenario of 'what if ' spawning a rare AU for me … so to indulge my wicked fancy, here we go … instead of Mao buying Spike from Joe, a naive young officer Jet comes to the rescue.
> 
> Updates on this one will be more sporadic as I am focusing on Diving Deep Into the Night, this is a lighter work I'm doing in addition, but there is a full plan for an arc.

_ **Young Blood Remix** _

_ **Session 1** _

_**The Year 2057** _

_**~JET~** _

Well this was disconcerting. The more I looked around Deseado the more the rumors proved to fall short of reality. This crater was the most Godawful shithole Mars had to offer. Not exactly the choicest introduction to the planet's charms, but it's not as though I had been asked. I'd been with the department as a beat cop for a couple years, just one of the grunts. I knew enough to be well aware—when your police chief tells you you're going somewhere—you're going.

Night had set as I walked through the trash strewn streets riddled with potholes, lined by more ruin than intact buildings. The place seemed like a war zone, complete with the occasional hostile fire. Wasn't much of a tourist trade, the only thing someone could pickup around here was blood poisoning from all the glass, metal, and wood scattered all over the place. The few residents that wandered between the buildings glanced my way with a hand reaching beneath their clothing, as if going for a weapon. It took everything I had to not reach for my gun. No chance at getting the time of day from any of them, though I had to wonder how many of them were even literate to begin with. I would bet that the vast majority here picked their alcohol out by the pictures on the labels.

I tugged up the collar of my suit jacket feeling rather over dressed, unless I was going for some kind of crime boss. Frankly, I wasn't at all certain what my role was supposed to be in this assignment. All I was told was to met a couple local cops at a bar called the Last Shot. So far my efforts to find that place amounted to locating a glass needle in a haystack.

There was no real logic to the streets, many of which were dead ends. Packs of dogs scrapped over trash and bones, running each other down into vicious brawls. There were so many curs I lost count.

Yup, there had to have been some proverbial 'drawing straws' back on Ganymede. And I clearly lost. Just the joys of being a beat cop. At least here I didn't have to wear the uniform. Apparently that was why external help was requested. All the local cops were known. They needed an undercover face. Kinda feels like I'm gonna be the bait.

Walking past a delivery truck with the doors open, I marveled at the fact there was an actual grocery store in this place.

An angry voice echoed from the alley. “I got you now, you little shit!”

I froze and cocked my head, taking a few steps backward. A heavy built man in a ball cap held a bat in his hands, his back to me as he stalked down the narrow alley. Something moved in front of him against a wall, but he was too big, I couldn't see what it was.

“Now I caught ya in the act. You're gonna get what you deserve.”

“I didn't take anything!” The high pitched voice of a young boy answered in angry defiance.

“Yeah, like last time. I'm not a fool.” He swung the bat into his own hand with a solid thuck. “I got deliveries to make. Can't have useless gutter leeches performing a five finger discount out of my truck. I saw you run off, now drop it or I'll drop you.”

“Doesn't work, jerk off! Can't drop what I didn't take.”

I crept into the alley catching my first glimpse of the target of the accusation. This wasn't some massive thug. Backed against the wall was a twig of a boy. Caught in the light of an overhead lamp of the nearby backdoor, he hardly stood at half my own height. He was hardly a worthy threat dressed in ill-fitting ragged clothing too large for his lean frame; jeans with the knees worn out, a dark gray long-sleeve shirt with a vest over it, his canvas shoes had once been another color that now could only be guessed. Beneath a mop of scruffy dark green hair, his light brown eyes seemed clever and quick.

Still one strike from that bat and he'd be finished.

“I've had it with you and your lies, Spike! You've had this coming for months now! All I had to do was corner your ass!” The trucker raised the bat.

The boy, who I assumed must be known as Spike, crouched down, quickly glancing up and grabbing at the building wall. The brick crumbled and he slid back down to the ground with a curse.

I couldn't let this continue. “Hey, does he look like a ball to you?”

The trucker glanced over his shoulder, pointing with the bat. “Stay out of this if you know what's good for you.”

“Just wondering what would warrant assault and battery.”

“Heh, how about repeated theft. This little shithead thinks he's entitled to whatever he can carry off!”

Still cornered, Spike stuck his tongue out.

“Does he now. Uhh, I can see both of his hands. They're empty. And I doubt he's got much in his pockets.”

“Really? You'd be surprised.” The trucker snorted a laugh. “Let's see.” With a swift low swing of the bat he sent Spike into a straight upward leap to avoid it. That brought him into the swipe of his other arm. With a meaty hand he caught Spike's wrist and yanked him into the tumble against the wall. Several cans flew from his pockets, clattering into the alley. One landed beneath the trucker's foot. “Uh huh. Didn't steal nothing, did ya!”

Spike eyed the cans and backpedaled, scrambling to his feet. “I was hungry, you prick.”

“So, get a job!” The trucker raised the bat and was about to rush him when I grabbed the end of the weapon.

“He's just a kid. Leave 'im alone.”

“Leave him alone? You have any idea how much theft happens from these street rats? I can't afford the loss from everything they take. You give them an inch, they swarm you!”

Accompanied by a gust, hasty footsteps echoed past me out into the street. I turned to glimpse the sole of a worn sneaker as it vanished. That was one fast kid!

“Hey! Get back here!”

I picked up a can and set it in the man's hand. “You got your stuff back, let him go. Any chance you know where the Last Shot is?”

The trucker grumbled, picked up the rest of the cans. “Pain in my ass … Yeah, two blocks that way, take a right. It's the joint with the busted window in the door.”

_**~JET~** _

The Last Shot. An apropos name for a dive bar in a slum. I found myself in a hole in the wall establishment, that literally had holes in the wall. Bullet holes. Wind and debris blew in from the outside. Was everything on Mars covered in red dust? The bartender had more spaces than teeth as he chewed his own gums. The disturbing thing, the man couldn't have been more than his mid-thirties.

Beneath one of the few dim booth lamps I sat nursing a black and tan. Across the table two local cops, Rich and Dodge reclined, cold bottles of beer in their hands. It didn't take a discerning eye to know they looked older than they were. Their eyes were bright and youthful, but their skin spoke of the harsh world they lived in. Scars marred there faces, evidence of the skin splitting. Dodge had one ear that resembled cauliflower, the sure sign of a man who had brawled—repeatedly. Neither of them wore a uniform at the moment, but the edge of their badges peeked out from the pockets of their casual clothes as they made small talk, largely ignoring me.

Yup, I was overdressed. I ran a finger beneath the collar of my dress shirt, loosening my tie.

As I took a draw off my drink, Dodge lifted his beer bottle, about to take a sip himself he pointed with a lifted pinky finger. “Hey, you barely look old enough to be drinkin', boy.”

I set my glass down and eyed him beneath heavy brows. “I'm twenty-one.”

Rich elbowed his partner, wrinkling a scar on the bridge of his nose. “The chief asks for help and they sent us a young blood.”

“He'll have to do.” Dodge shrugged, setting his bottle down. “You ever done undercover work before?”

For a moment I considered lying. But neither of them seemed worthy of trying to earn their approval. I scratched my beard. “No, but it doesn't seem like it should be very difficult. The chief mentioned something about all of you were known around here.”

“Right.” Rich leaned back in the booth. “Ain't very many of us in this crater. The locals get to know us even if we don't want them to. Fact is, there's some stuff getting through, and those involved get all squirrely when they see any of us.”

“So, here's what we need from you. There's a fella we think got his hands on the shit a day ago. But we can't just go in there. If he sees us sniffin' about, he'll hide it.”

“Right, but a guy like you? Heh, he'd never think even once about a new face. We need you to go into his joint tomorrow, hang around for a while, and keep your eyes open for this.” He showed me a picture of a glass vial filled with a purple liquid, an aerosolyzer attached to it. “Shit's called Purple-eye. You don't need to do anything. Just see if you can spot this in his building. Then, met us back here.”

“If he's got it, we'll score the warrant and do the raid. Simple as that. Even a searat like you can't screw that up.”

I raised an eyebrow. Searat? What the heck kind of a dig was that? At length I sighed, the sooner I finished this, the sooner I got to go back home to Ganymede. Rubbing my forehead I glanced through my fingers. “Where am I going?”

Dodge's smile sat uneasy with me. “Hope you like playing pool. The joint is called Uncle Joe's Pool Hall.”

_**~SPIKE~** _

The squeak of the old couch springs dragged me out of a restless sleep as I stirred beneath the blanket. Peering through a hole in the fabric, that once had a visible pattern before time had worn it away, I watched the light turn on with a flicker of quiet dread. It wasn't enough that last night my attempt to score my first decent meal in days had gone tits up … erff, I could still feel the memory of the cans' weight in my pockets … now the old hard ass was awake early. Which only meant one thing for me.

The floorboards creaked under his weight. I couldn't see him under my rather pathetic refuge, but I followed the sound of his sluggish progress across the room. The snick of his lighter, followed by the scent of cigarette smoke.

Shit, that made me itch for one something fierce. But even more so the desire to be left alone for as long as possible won out. I'd only gotten a few hours of sleep, if that could even be counted. The complaints of my empty stomach repeatedly disrupted my efforts. My fist tightened. I'd really needed that score last night. Now it was another day of sipping beer and sneaking pretzels when Mr. stingy wasn't looking. If I was lucky—he would leave!

A sharp flick caught my elbow, apparently there was another hole in the blanket. I hissed.

“Wake up, you useless shit.” Joe yanked the blanket off and threw it on the floor.

I groaned, covering my eyes hoping he didn't guess I'd already been awake. Truth was he usually wasn't that perceptive.

“Lazy, good for nothing.” He held up an empty vodka bottle. “What's this?”

Faced with that, lying down was not the position I wanted to be in. Slowly, looking as casual about it as I could, I sat up and yawned. “A glass all empty.”

Joe wielded the bottle. “Smart ass! How many times I gotta tell you to restock the bar. Every. Fuckin'. Night!”

I rolled my eyes. “It was late, I was hungry. I had to get out there befor—”

In a massive crash the bottle shattered as it struck the wall above my head, the neck of it still in his grip. I couldn't help it, I flinched as the shards pelted my shirt and by sheer luck bounced off to rain onto the couch … where I slept. Son of bitch, that was gonna be hard to clean up. Joe's empty hand clamped like a vice around my right wrist holding it up above my head.

Don't let him see the fear. I swallowed every damnable ounce of it, fighting to keep a dead-eyed stare and my breathing even. If I was being honest, I was terrified. If there was one thing I was terrible at—it was honesty.

With the cigarette clamped between his teeth, Joe's grip on my wrist tightened painfully. He hefted the shattered edge of the bottle above my pinned hand, shaking with fury. “Time to teach you a lesson!”

Survival instinct alone stripped any sense of urgency from my voice as I calmly looked from the sharp glass to my wrist and finally to his face with a confidence I didn't have any right to feel. This man was twice my height and probably four times my weight, but did I mention the man was an idiot? “Hey genius, I can't play the table if you jack up my hand. That'll cost you _your_ meal ticket.”

The grip on the bottle loosened. The furious glare lost its intensity as he stared at my pinned hand. With a growl he threw the remains of the bottle against the far wall and pointed. “Clean that up. Then down to the cellar and I want that bar restocked like you should have done last night!” With a hard yank, he threw me into a tumble on the floor before stomping off with an unintelligible grumble.

I sighed, halfway in relief. That could have gone so much worse. Luckily years ago I had learned to take a roll when he lost his shit for no apparent reason. This guy was a grade A loser. Dusting myself off, I grabbed the broom and started to clean up his mess. What did that make me? After all, I relied on this jackass for what little kindness he showed.

Kindness, hah! Yeah, I got a roof to crash under, but that was pretty much it. The only reason Joe bothered was because he'd taught me how to run a pool table like it was nobody's business when I'd shown interest. He'd taken me in more or less to do all the odd jobs he didn't want to do, if I could con his customers out of more woolongs, all the better for him. I had the best poker face in all of Deseado. Then again, competition wasn't precisely fierce around here. The locals were all either cutthroats or dead beats. Both were easy marks. One because of ego, the other because they were too shitfaced to notice when I was light fingering their pockets.

Not that I got to keep any of it.

I eyed the drop box Joe had set up. A hidden wood panel in the wall behind the bar on the other side of the door. Back here in the office the panel led to a cardboard box that I'd use a bit of sleight of hand to empty my pockets throughout the day while refilling drinks.

Yeah, Joe no longer ran this place. I did.

From the dustpan, the glass clattered into the trashcan beside his desk. I narrowed my eyes, hello, what's this? Strange things showed up from time to time after Joe visited the pawn shop. After all, a lot of jewelry ended up in his box. But over the six years I had spent in this place I had never seen something like this.

I knew better than to touch Joe's things, so I examined it only with my eyes. A thick-walled glass vial filled with a purple liquid. A metal device with a trigger sat next to it, a needle that looked like it was designed to pierce the seal of the vial.

A shiver went down my spine. Trouble. That's what this looked like.

I grabbed my pack of cigarettes and lighter from my pocket, lighting up before I trudged down the creaking stairs. I already knew what I needed. I'd looked last night. But it was dark, and the single light bulb over the stairs wasn't enough to prevent the real concern of breaking my neck on the ill-repaired steps.

Joe was a tightwad. He no longer came down here. That was my job. Why would he care? He should, for the precise reason I'd mentioned to him before. He'd come to reply on what my antics brought in.

The bulb swung back and forth overhead casting moving shadows as I rifled through the shelves digging out stock. A bottle of vodka, a couple different whiskeys, and a cheap ass bottle of scotch. Luckily I didn't have to lug a keg up the stairs today. I reached down intermittently, the back of my right calf itched, the flesh rough beneath my ragged jeans. A tired reminder of the recently healed dog bite that had been troubling me. Had Joe given me a break when I was limping? Nope. I'd still had to haul this shit up the stairs and the empty bottles out to the back alley trash. Still had to run the bar and the tables from open to close. Lazy asshole.

Gripping the box, I hefted it up and staggered against the sloshing weight. Halfway up a dry-rotted board groaned beneath my foot.

SNAP!

My foot went right through. The bottles clattered as I made a desperate hop, catching the next stair and coming down on my knee, the other foot hanging over the edge. That had been rather close! Taking a steadying breath I edged the rest of the way up the stairs and lugged the box to the bar.

The bottles clanked as I traded them out. My stomach grumbled anew, I silently cursed its needs. I didn't have time to go scrounge something up now. The hall was open. I had to run the joint so Joe could … I sighed, eyeing the half open office door. The box of yesterday's jewelry scores was gone. He must have taken it to the pawn shop. Good, that should leave me with at least a few hours of peace.

The clearing of a throat jolted me.

Or … not.

Great, I thought the least I had done was clean up out there before I left to forage last night. What did Joe find to be pissed about now?

Gripping the edge of the bar I hauled myself up, prepared in case I should have to duck, wouldn't be the first time. My eyes widened, the nearly spent cigarette fell to the floor.

Beside one of the tables a man stood holding one of the house cues. Not just any man, I had seen the chump, just last night. He'd been wearing a suit. Today he was more casual, wearing a t-shirt with a jacket and jeans. He was a black-haired man with a beard, stocky build and a sure step. An annoyingly sure step. He'd had one use, providing the distraction that allowed me slip off from the trucker's wrath. That damn jerk had set a trap, and in my desperation I had fallen for it and nearly been snuffed out. This man was a stranger here, or he wouldn't have interfered. Still, what the hell was he doing _here_?

For a moment shock flashed on his features, replaced by a smile splitting his beard. “Oh hey, sorry, I heard someone moving bottles.” He made a show of looking around. “Uhh, is your father here?”

By sheer automatic response, I shook my head. Joe was **not** my father.

“Ok, who's in charge.”

I rolled my eyes slowly to the office door. Looking back at him I sighed and pointed to my chest. “That would be me.”

He rubbed his beard. “Heh. Well then, how does this work? Do I pay up front or what?”

Punching the release on the register I yanked out the wad of house money and strode around the bar. “You wanna play? Ante up.” I grabbed my favorite cue from the rack, chalking it.

His eyes widened, looking down at me. “Against you? Heh, you'd need a stool to reach the table, kid.”

“You asked a question. I gave you an answer.” I leaned against the table. “You see anyone else to play against?”

He did a slow sweep of a room before shaking his head.

I reached out a hand and beckoned with my fingers. “Opening bet?”

Pulling out his wallet, he tugged out a few woolong bills and set it on the rail. “This really isn't fair.”

Eyeing the amount I tugged out the match. “Starting small, tch. Hardly worth the time.” I cocked a grin up at him. “Don't worry. I'll go easy on ya.”


	2. Session 2

_**~JET~** _

The kid's idea of taking it easy on me was to let me break.

Uncle Joe's Pool Hall, the only surface that was clean in this joint was the pool tables. Those, by some miracle, were immaculate. The rest of the place gave me the impression I might permanently stick to it if I touched anything. The floor tried to hold onto my shoes with an audible grip each time I lifted them ... a literal gum shoe, that wasn't lost on me. At one time this might have been a nice place, it had wood paneling on the walls, the finish had worn away and many panels were dry rotted leaving a gap at the floor. In the dim light I swore I saw rodents scampering around, darting beneath the card tables at the other end of the joint. This was a dimly lit gamblers den indeed. Set up for pool, card games, and even dart boards.

Sure enough there was a bar, though I hadn't walked over to check it out, I suspected it would be just as caked in grime as the rest of this place. It reeked of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol. The windows had a film to them, a combination of the smoke and the red dirt trapped by it filtering the daylight. Back in the hallways I glimpsed a few doors, one I suspected lead to the upstairs. Many business owners in poorer districts lived above where they worked. Maybe that's where the guy lived. But for now all I was afforded were brief glances under the scrutiny of a sharp-eyed kid.

I wasn't getting very far with my task. That sleepy-eyed stare fooled me at first when I had pulled out my wallet. I was no stranger to a pool table. At the academy I'd spent my share of evenings hanging at the rail and shooting with my classmates. Now, I wasn't the sharpest player, merely average. But my expectations went down the drain faster than an alcoholic's paycheck.

How could a kid who stood just over shoulder height with a table's rail dominate it?

Spike had let me break, standing back with a cocky smile that belonged on a seasoned gambler. That should have been my first clue. I was lucky enough to sink a solid. And that was it. After I missed the second shot that little shit moved to the rail and I may as well of put the cue back on the wall. Watching him was like watching a magician, never knowing quite how he was making it happen. I'd seen a few of the guys put spin on a ball before, mostly by accident. But Spike could arc balls through tight corridors without breaking a sweat.

My cigarette hung from my mouth, “Say, how old are you?”

To my surprise, he pulled out a lighter and tugged a cigarette from a rumpled pack in his pocket. Lighting it with practiced ease, he dropped the lighter back in his pocket and resumed lining up the cue. Around the cigarette, he called out, “Twelve in the corner pocket.”

That shot was impossible. No amount of spin would reach around the cluster in the way.

He pegged the cue ball low and gave the cue a flick. The ball hopped over the cluster and came down just to the side of the twelve sending it straight into the called pocket. He stood, elbow leaning on the rail, eyeing me through a puff of smoke.

I ran a hand through my hair. “Wow … that was … **some** shot. But seriously, how old are you?”

His eyes narrowed before rolling them. “I answered your question.” Turning back to the table, he sunk two more stripes in a split.

He answered me? But he hadn't said a thi—it came to me slowly. Had he targeted the ball on purpose? I stared at him, aware it was probably rude. Could he really be twelve? I wasn't well versed in kids. I knew they varied a great deal. He seemed a bit runty, maybe just about four and a half feet tall? Thin as a rake with long fingers, things were not quite the right proportions. Wasn't that typical of someone approaching adolescence? It had been so long ago for me. His complexion seemed darker until I realized something. Pale patches peeking out between the dirt rubbed into his skin, more obvious in the areas beneath his rolled up sleeves when they slid each time he took a shot. His hair was undoubtedly a dark green, brighter under the table's overhead light than it had been in the darkened alley. It was such a tangled mess that I wondered when the last time it had seen a comb had been. Nothing he wore fit him right, in fact, when his dark gray henley shirt rode up I spotted a length of rope he'd run through the frayed jean's belt loops as a makeshift belt drawing the excess fabric tighter. The jeans themselves were too long, he'd rolled up the cuffs, and at the moment they weren't even. They'd been blue originally, but there was a grimy tinge to them turning them almost gray.

Twelve years old, eh? If anything, his sharp eyes, when not half concealed by the lids, seemed older, wiser than any kid I'd ever seen.

With a deft flick, he spun the eight ball into the pocket. Leaning on the cue he eyed me through the tendrils of his cigarette. A kid, smoking like a chimney. This just wasn't right. But I couldn't blow my cover. I had yet to see what I was looking for.

I couldn't resist. After he buried me the first time, I wanted to watch more of this kid's skills. To the detriment of my wallet, he ran me around the table twice.

Watching my hard earned cash vanish into his pocket, I groaned. “Ok, now I know I could us a black and tan.”

Spike tossed the cue onto the table and strode behind the bar.

I wandered closer. “What are you doing?” As I peered over the counter I glimpsed a tipped pint glass in his hand below spigot.

“What does it look like?” Half full, he slipped it beneath another one, the pale at the bottom the darker filling the top.

I blinked. “You know how to pour a black and tan?”

He cocked a grin. Sliding the glass across the bar he leaned on his elbows.

I took it, lifting an eyebrow. My stars, the sheer number of laws broken in this establishment was staggering! What kind of parent allowed this? Taking the drink I savored a good mouthful. I nearly choked when I lowered the glass. Spike wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand, carrying a pint of beer back toward the table for himself.

I pointed wordlessly. What was the drinking age on Mars? It might be younger, but there's no way it was twelve!

Spike started to rack the balls, humming to himself as he did it.

Recovering myself, I took a glimpse down the backside of the bar. There was a slightly open door, looked to be an office of some sort, but I couldn't see much. Unfortunately the restroom was on the other side of the building. I couldn't use that as an excuse to peek. Damn it. Looks like I would have to burn a bit more cash on this foray.

I returned to the table. “Isn't today a school day?”

He barely shrugged a shoulder.

Setting my pint glass on the wall ledge I furrowed my brow. “What I mean is, shouldn't a kid like you be in school?”

Spike made a rude noise. “As if it wasn't already obvious you aren't from around here. There are no schools in Deseado. What would the point be.” He took another gulp of the beer and set his glass aside with all the grace of a seasoned gambler.

“Education.”

Lifting an eyebrow he leaned on his cue. “And … ?”

I was beginning to get a better picture of this dust hole. Spike wasn't being a smart ass, he was dead serious.

“Waste of time and money in a place like this when people never get the chance to grow up. I'm lucky I've lived this long. Now, you gonna break?”

Leaning over the rail, I lined up the shot. “So, this is what you do all day. Shoot pool and pour drinks, running this place for your father?”

Out of the corner of my eye I caught his expression darkening. “You make a lot of assumptions.”

And I just made a terrible shot too, not a single ball sank.

Spike walked up to the rail, cracking his knuckles. “Ok, stripes or solids this time … choices, choices.”

I took a long draw off my black and tan. There went another game.

Halfway through the table the door opened and a man in a denim jacket walked in. “Spike! I'm gonna get you today.” He flicked a chip into the air.

Spike reached back and caught it, smacking it down on the rail. “We'll see. You got next game, Harris.”

“Yes!” Harris went to the rack and started to select a cue. “I've been practicing. I have a new move that should challenge you.”

Spike sunk two solids. “You've been saying that for years. It's getting old.”

“I mean it, kid. One day I'm gonna cream you.”

“Keep dreamin', slick.”

Before I knew it, and before I had another shot, the eight ball went down.

Spike grabbed the chip and flicked it at Harris. “Alright, step it up. Let's see what you got.”

Hours passed to a slow trickle of customers, grizzly men over twice Spike's age. A couple of them played their own game. Most went for a shot at the house, and every time Spike ran that table like an aggressive shark. There was no other answer for it. The kid must live here, probably in an apartment over the joint.

He was in the midst of lining up a shot when suddenly he shifted directions, the cue ball smacked into a different ball launching it clear off the table across the room. It slammed into the hand of a man at the bar—reaching over it. He recoiled and howled. My jaw hung waiting for the shoe to drop, for this man to turn and pummel the kid.

Spike pointed with the cue, “How many times I gotta tell ya, Don, no self service!”

Don held his hand, cringing as Spike stalked across the room and retrieved the ball. “Come on, I was just gonna pour a—”

“Nothing. You know Joe's rules. Next time you try that shit, you're out! Got it?”

He nodded and slunk away, chased by a kid who needed to do nothing more than glare at him.

Without missing a beat, Spike reset the table to how it had been before the assaulting shot. His opponent didn't say a word. The game resumed.

Wait a sec, hadn't that guy been wearing a watch when he came in? Now his wrist was bare.

A few shots later and his opponent walked away from the table and out the door, hand in the air.

Three men ambled in, two pushed one of them forward with a fiendish grins. “Go on, Ryan. Play the kid.”

He bent down and eyed Spike, who dropped the cocky demeanor like a wet rag. Suddenly Spike looked rather unsure of himself, his grip fumbling with the cue. Ryan scratched his head. “I told you guys, I'm a great pool player. You take me for a fool?” The fool was already getting his wallet out.

While his back was turned, the two men palmed Spike a wad of woolongs, he winked to them before returning to Ryan holding his hand out for his bet. “Wow, this looks like so much.”

I gawked, that wasn't even half the amount that each of the men had handed to him. The little con artist! I didn't know what was worse. The two men setting up the mark, or Spike for playing the market. But damn—he was smooth making it look like he'd never held a cue before.

Ryan pushed him aside. “Here shrimp, let me rack 'em for yah and show you how it's done.”

Spike looked hurt, until Ryan turned his back. Then he yawned, pulling out the stolen watch from his pocket and glanced at the time. This kid had brass balls.

Leaning over the table Ryan cocked a smile. “Ok, you see it's a real bad thing to hit them head on, you want to strike it off to the side, like this.”

I swallowed my tongue, if only to preserve the chance to see this guy get served. Behind him, the two men were exchanging amused glances. One wrung his hands in anticipation.

“Oh really?” Spike sounded so innocent. How many times had he pulled this?

Ryan's strike broke the balls sending them scattering around the table. “Ha, and look I got a stripe in. Alright. So this means I get the stripes and you get the solids. Well maybe. If I let you get a hit.”

He had a lucky streak of three before missing.

Spike approached the table looking nervous. I had never seen his hand tremble, and yet it was as he lined up the shot. At the rail, Ryan was grinning. “Poor kid, I know it's intimidating going against a hotshot like me.”

At the last second the tremor vanished. “Ball one, middle left pocket.” He snapped to laser focus as the cue struck hard sending the cue ball in a curve around the stripes. It kissed the number one ball transferring the spin and sending it on a trajectory into the called pocket.

Ryan's complexion matched the cue ball as Spike casually glanced up at him and asked plainly, “Oh, was that good? Or am I still supposed to be intimidated, hotshot?”

Turning to the other two, Ryan's jaw hung limp. But it was too late, he had placed too much pride on the line.

I felt for him, I really did, as Spike just danced around the table calling shots in order.

The door hinges squealed as they swung open. A portly man in a stained shirt walked in scratching his stomach. He glanced at the occupants as he passed through the room. Some of the men waved to him, but he barely responded if he noticed at all.

One pair of eyes did, though still lining up a shot, Spike followed every motion of the man, a slight tension coming over him. The kid was smooth, though, had I not been watching him this whole day I wouldn't have caught the subtle change. The man wandered into the back hall pushing through the door I assumed was the office … and leaving it wider. Now I had to get closer.

Harris cackled, “Joe's in a mood today. Broker must've been a hard ass today.”

Don shrugged. “When isn't he?”

“Point.”

I wandered over to the bar, lifting my pint glass. “Hey kid, can I get a beer?”

The balls clacked as he sank the final shot, to the dismayed groan of his opponent who turned and sobbed into his friends hands. Spike slipped them their due—so I had guessed right, they'd bet their friend would get creamed. Carrying the cue with him, Spike went behind the bar and refilled my glass. “Anyone else?” Sure enough several others stepped up for a round, the pair bought their loser fool a drink.

That gave me the perfect excuse to step to the side, working my way closer and closer toward a casual view of the office door. I tipped my head back as I took a gulp. The light was dim, but there in the center of the desk it gleamed a vibrant purple. The very vial I was looking for!

“That isn't full!” Don shrieked, pounding his fist on the bar.

“It is too, you cheap skate!”

“Look at all that foam.”

The perfect opportunity, I snapped a photo of the office and tucked my phone back away before anyone saw it. Good timing too, my tab was close to draining my wallet.


	3. Session 3

_** ~SPIKE~ ** _

I rubbed a stubborn knot in my shoulder as I trudged toward the front door, turning the lock to a rumble of thunder. It looked like rain. Despite my protesting stomach I wasn't about to test my luck. After the few handfuls of pretzels I had snuck today while Joe was out I could go another day without scrounging. I didn't want to, but it was that or risk getting caught out in the storm. Its not like I had a key for the door if Joe decided to lock me out, something he had done before. The mood he came in with earlier in the day had a lot to do with my decision.

When I turned around he stood behind the bar holding the box and rifling through it. “Busy day.”

Yeah shithead, I was busy the whole damn day. Not that you ever bothered to do a thing besides stalk in and disappear.

Joe reached down and grabbed a bottle of whiskey carrying it by the neck back toward the office.

Silently I marked which one it was, I'd have to fetch a new one, after all that wasn't going back under the bar. If he found it missing, he would conveniently forget what happened. With a sigh, I cleaned up the messes left behind throughout the day. Pint glasses that needed to be washed, crumbs and debris that had to be swept from the floor. I had nearly finished when ...

“Hey shrimp,” Joe bellowed from the office, “don't forget to clean the restroom.”

My shoulders fell. Soaking a towel in water I tied it like a bandanna over my nose and mouth before pushing the door open. Instantly, even with the protection, I gagged. “Goooggh! Don, seriously … if you gotta puke, learn how to aim.”

Unfortunately, this room had no window as I carried out possibly the worst job; cleaning up after grown men. I made the shortest work of it possible!

Finally able to breathe again, I discarded the towel and dragged my feet into the office. It had been rummaged through, not the first time Joe had made a mess. The weird object, that purple filled vial, wasn't on his desk anymore, probably taken it with him upstairs to the place I was never allowed to trespass, Joe's apartment. Bone weary from the long day I didn't care about his shit. All I wanted to do was crash. Grimly I realized I'd forgotten something. The shattered glass all over the couch from before. Picking out the pieces I searched between the threadbare cushions hoping to prevent getting cut up as I slept. An infection was the last thing I needed.

“Are you listening to me, boy?”

“Huh?” I turned in time to see Joe towering over me. Had he been talking?

“Why the fuck do I keep your useless ass around?”

I looked down, not out of shame, he'd called me far worse, but to hide the heat burning on my face. Why keep me around? Because I do _everything_ around here, dumb fuck. Within the first year of taking me in most of the work had transferred to me. By now the only thing Joe did was unlock the door every morning on his was to the pawn shop. Before I learned the game, guys would come to play pool against each other. I'd stayed up after the joint closed experimenting around on the edges of the table, mimicking what I'd seen, refining it until one of the main reasons people came was to challenge the house—me. And who benefited? Joe.

“Worthless talking to you, you don't even listen.” The bottle of whiskey sloshed in his hand, his breath stank of it. “All you do is take from me, you needy little brat.”

Take? Take what? I scavenge for my own food because you won't let me go upstairs and share your home. I had to steal my clothes because you wouldn't provide me with anything. You tell me I'm lucky to have a roof over my head—that's the _only_ thing you provide. You won't spare a woolong for me, you skinflint! I loathed this man … I detested that I had no choice but to do whatever he wanted. That roof was the only thing that stood between death claiming me. It was a priceless advantage I had over the other orphans in this shit hole of a crater—and he fuckin' knew it.

“Eh, I'll teach you a lesson.” He belched, staggering backward and fwapping his freehand in the air, “ … tomorrow.” The stairs creaked as he tromped up them.

The moment he left the room I did one final quick pass of the couch. It seemed free of the glass, I hoped. Grabbing the blanket on the floor, I turned off the light and I flopped onto the couch, huddling beneath my hole-riddled refuge. It was something. The only things I had in this world—my hard-won skills, the clothes on my back, and the use of a squeaky-springed couch.

I was still alive—that was more than some of the abandoned kids out there whose bones littered the streets. How much longer would that remained true? Well … every day was a gamble against unknown odds.

_**~JET~** _

A flicker of lightning caught the sign in the front window as I glanced across the street from the alley. Rich and Dodge checked their gear over, grinning like jack-o-lanterns. “Ok, let's strike while the iron is red hot. I can't believe you got the photo of that shit so quickly.”

I glanced over my shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Heck, we figured it would take a few days at least. But you nailed the big one.”

“So you could get the warrant?”

Dodge patted his pocket. “Yup. We'll get him with possession. And then we can dangle that small fry out to catch the bigger fish up the line.”

Rich chuckled. “I can't wait to start. Come on, let's nail this scumbag.”

I heaved a sigh, the pains of being on loan to another precinct on another planet. My authority here was squat. Gripping my gun, I followed them across the night-darkened asphalt beneath the broken streetlamp.

Without any pause, Dodge kicked the window of the front door shattering it. Rich reached in and unlocked it, yanking the door open. They raced inside, storming toward the office, Rich signaled me to stay there as the two stormed up the stairs.

I rolled my eyes. Great, so I got to be the blockade in case the guy decided to run. A moment later I heard alarmed shouting followed by a series of thuds. One really loud one!

When the silence stretched too long, I was about to race up after them, the floor boards creaked. Their flashlight beams shot down the stairs. I flicked the office light on, realizing for the first time what a mess this place was—papers and debris everywhere. Shards of glass on the floor. This place wreaked of mildew and now I saw the black stains climbing up the walls.

Rich and Dodge dragged the cuffed Joe down the stairs, his head lolled around. He moaned softly but as they dumped him against the wall he hardly looked like he would be much trouble. Rich held up the vial and the dispenser. “Heh, just what we were looking for. Well, that and this.” He nudged Joe. “You're gonna be squealing like the pig you are soon, once we get you to interrogation, heh heh heh.”

“Hold up. Somethings missing.” Dodge looked around.

“What?”

Dodge crouched down and grabbed Joe's chin. The man's eyes were crossed and barely open, a goose egg growing on the side of his forehead. “Where's your half pint partner?”

“Oh right, the runt! Didn't see him upstairs, maybe he's out and about. You know we've had some calls about him after dark.”

“Frequently.” Dodge stood up, eyeing the room.

A partner? So even the cops knew about the system going on here. And they hadn't done anything?

Rich glanced at me, “Anybody come this way?”

“Nope. Not a soul.” I'd been in the doorway the whole time. Spike was slick, but not that slick. I would have seen him if he'd left.

Slowly Dodge raised a finger to his lips. He pointed across the room close to where Rich was. With a twisted grin, Rich crept over to the couch, his hand hovered over the blanket. In a swift grab he yanked it off and darted forward, rewarded by the startled cry of the kid now dangling in the air by his shirt and vest in Rich's grasp.

“Let me go!” Spike tried to kick him, but he couldn't reach.

“Heh, now isn't this interesting, Dodge. Looky what we got here, an accessory!”

I stood up straighter, a rock and a damn hard place. This kid _was_ a thief, I'd seen it with my own eyes. But still, he was just a kid. “You gonna arrest him with his father?”

Dodge snorted a laugh. “Father? Haha, Joe ain't got a kid by his loins. Not this jackass. A hooker wouldn't even lay eyes on him. Nah, this little maggot is just a street rat he took advantage of years ago. And he's been a lot of trouble.”

Not his father? Now that I looked they were nothing alike. But that meant—

“The question is what to do with this piece of shit. I mean we are talking a lot of paperwork if we haul him into the precinct.” Rich smiled sadistically. “There is a much simpler solution to this little problem. Hey, Dodge, you didn't see nothing in here, right?”

Giving a wink, Dodge averted his eyes. “Just a deadbeat and some drugs, Rich.”

Spike snarled and clawed at Rich's arm. “Bastard! You can't do this! Leave me alone!”

CRACK!

Rich's hand struck Spike's cheek hard enough he hung stunned in the grip. “Little fucker. Mind your place. Here, let me reunite you with your own kind. The rats will be pleased to see you again.”

“Hahah, at least someone will.” Dodge snorted.

Spike started to stir in his grip. The scrambling became frantic as Rich pushed past me out toward the shattered front door. Rich grunted, “We're boarding this place up. But, I have to throw the trash out first. You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do this.”

“You fucking assholes! You know damn well what you're doing!”

I hung back in utter shock as Rich literally heaved the kid into a tumble. Spike landed hard and rolled into the middle of the street, obviously dazed. He pushed up from the asphalt staring at the ground, breathing hard. Headlights blazed, a horn blasted from a truck.

I'd never reach him in time. “Look out!”

Spike glanced up in shock and threw himself out of the way as the vehicle rushed past where he had been a moment before. In the gust of the truck passing he gave one vehement glare at Rich before darting off into the alleyway, disappearing into the shadows.

I moved to follow, Rich grabbed my shoulder and shoved me back inside. “Nah uh. That walking corpse isn't worth it. Trust me, that kid is no innocent, but he's not worth the trouble of filling out the paperwork. That way is sooo much easier.”

“What's gonna happen to him?”

He shrugged. “Car'll hit him. Gang'll take him out. Dog'll eat 'em. One way or another the streets will claim him. The kid's been on borrowed time for years. Come on, we got what we were after. All that's left is to board up this shit hole and take our new best friend back to the precinct.”

Dodge came around the corner holding a box. “Holy shit, we hit the mother load. Would you look at this?”

Clapping his hands and rubbing them together with shameless glee, Rich gazed at the contents.

Inside the cardboard box were the stacks of woolongs from Spike's pockets, a few assorted rings, and the stolen watch. Thunder rolled outside. I glanced behind Dodge at the couch and the tossed blanket … realization set in.

With one photograph I'd just cost that kid his life.

_**~JET~** _

This was a disaster, and clearly I was stuck in Deseado until the cops were done with me. I'd left the precinct headquarters the absolute second that I could after being forced to board up the pool hall. Every nail I hammered in felt like one into that kid's coffin. Although the further chatter of Rich and Dodge made it sound as though he wouldn't get one. I had to do something quick.

Winding through the streets and alleys I canvased them trying to find where he possibly could have gone. This whole crater was a mess.

This seemed ridiculous. He was a streetwise kid, he could be anywhere. But something about the panic in his eyes haunted me. That hadn't been an act like playing a game earlier in the day. No, he'd been legit terrified.

A flash of lightning outlined something in an alley as I passed. A figure, huddled against the wall beneath an awning. Carefully I approached, I could be wrong, this could be anyone. A dim light caught the figure, outlining the features the closer I got.

It was Spike, hugging his knees to his chest. He stared out across the alley at nothing at all.

“Hey kid—”

“Fuck off!” His glare wouldn't even turn my way.

I hadn't expected that level of vehemence. Slowing my pace I stopped a few feet from him. “I've been looking all over for you.”

“Why? So you can kick me? Finish what your friends started? Haven't gotten your thrills yet?” His throat was tight. He wasn't crying, but his eyelids puckered. He was close to it. “Damn cop. I should've known! I should've known you were one of those assholes!”

“I didn't mean what happened.” I reached out.

Surging to his feet, he swatted my hand away. Fists pumps at his sides. “Didn't mean it? Didn't mean it! You have no idea what you did! What I just lost! I hope you're satisfied. What are they gonna give you? A nicer shinier badge? A raise?” He staggered forward, pointing at me. “Go back to where you came from cause it sure as hell isn't here.”

“Look, I want to—”

“You've done enough!” He pushed past me, breaking into a run. But his mad dash didn't even make it to the end of the alley. He stumbled, catching his weight against the wall. He was more than upset, something was wrong.

Warily I approached him, this could be a deception, he'd made it clear he was angry with me. His stance wobbled, his eyes clenched. In the silence I heard the keening of an empty stomach.

I reached out, “Spike—”

“Are you deaf or just stupid?” Panting, he pushed off from the wall, “I said, leave me alo … ” Like a switch going out, his body lost tension. His hand slid down the wall as he failed to catch himself, crumpling into a heap.

Racing forward, I sighed in relief that he was still breathing. When I shook him there was no response. The poor kid was exhausted. Even out cold his stomach complained. Now that I had a hand on him it was obvious, he was muscle and bone, not an ounce of fat. The cheek where he'd been struck blossomed bright red.

A gun shot nearby turned my head. Out of the corner of my eyes I watched the dogs prowling. Dogs … more than one mangy mongrel with its ribs showing, drooling for a meal. I couldn't just leave him here.

Thunder rumbled in a pitch black sky as made up my mind. I gathered Spike off the ground and worked his limp body over my back. His arms dangling over my shoulder. It was a clumsy piggy back ride, but I felt the heat of each breath against my shoulder blade.

What the fuck was I doing? I was a beat cop sent on a task off-world. All I had was a shoddy hotel room. But … this kid had nothing, no one. That was obvious now. And if it hadn't been for me he might still have a roof … with a perfect asshole.

Ugh, why did this have to be so complicated? I groaned and trudged through the cracked winding streets wondering how the hell to get back to my hotel. I barely knew where I was in this accursed slum. Spike didn't so much as stir, his arms hung over my shoulders, I gripped his thin legs at my sides. There was almost nothing there, he weighed next to nothing. Luckily he didn't feel feverish.

I hoped he had only collapsed from exhaustion. If it was anything worse I had no idea where the hospital was. They probably wouldn't take him anyway.

My lip lifted in a snarl. This seemed like it couldn't possibly get any worse.

A thick rain drop plunked at my feet. I glared up. “Really?” Some things just shouldn't be even thought.


	4. Session 4

_**~JET~** _

The door creaked on the hinges as I used my heel to close it. By some miracle I had managed to find my damn hotel. Not that this room was anything spectacular, but after stumbling upon Spike's unfortunate situation I had a new appreciation for a roof over my head. The room provided for me by the local precinct I was on loan to was a suite, well sort of. The nicest piece of furniture was a queen sized bed. I had a full couch with a coffee table. The holograph TV was an older model, but it worked. Of course I had my own bathroom, much nicer than having to walk down the hall in my boxers to a shared one, like my first apartment. What surprised me the most was the small kitchenette tucked into the corner, it meant I could cook meals over the one burner stove. How long did they think I'd be here?

Spike still hung off my back as I walked over to the couch and eased him down. He remained out cold, but at least he didn't look worse as I turned on more lights. Taking my jacket off I tossed it over the arm of the couch and went to the small fridge. I needed something I could get into this kid. Digging through I discovered some udon noodles in a broth.

“Perfect!”

Pulling out a pan I turned the burner on and strained the broth in, leaving the noodles. Even out cold he should be able to swallow the broth. I didn't need it hot, but warm would do. Leaving it for a moment, I leaned over the couch.

Those dirt-caked shoes had to come off. Tugging the knots loose on the high topped canvas sneakers a small cloud of dust drifted into the air. They were covered in the red dirt of Mars. The fabric frayed in several places, a hole threatening to blow out where his big toe rubbed. I tugged the shoes off and shook my head. The socks may have once been white, but time had dyed them a dirty reddish-tan. As far as the odor of unwashed socks go, this brought tears to my eyes and churned my gut. I peeled them off and glimpsed his actual skin tone for the first time.

Between his arms and his feet there were several shades of difference—that wasn't a tan. This kid was filthy.

Pinching my nose, I grabbed the socks and shoes and tossed them into the kitchen. I started filling it with hot water. There was no doubt what I would be doing after they had a good soak. I scrubbed my hands before checking the broth.

By now the burner had taken the chill from it. Warm enough I poured it into a bowl and brought it out. Lifting Spike's head I hoped this would work. Easing a bit into his mouth I watched as his throat worked. He didn't choke, he swallowed. His body knew what it needed even if he wasn't awake.

“That's it, kid. Keep it up, you really need this.” It wasn't much, but it was something. I held the bowl for him until it was empty. “That should help.”

He still barely stirred. And I cringed at the bruise now blooming in the center of the red slap on his cheek. Scratching my beard I looked around. I couldn't leave him on the couch. He needed sleep, real sleep.

Lifting Spike in my arms, I carried him over to the bed and tucked him in. I did not envy the housekeeping staff. White sheets. Gah, the moment Spike's small body touched them the dirt transferred. Rubbing the back of my neck I shrugged. It was too late now. I pulled the blanket up over his shoulder. The illusion was fully shattered. I no longer saw the shard-eyed gambler at the pool table rail. In his place lay a small desperate child, with nowhere to turn. “Sleep well, kid. We'll figure this out in the morning.”

_**~SPIKE~** _

I rolled over from one side to the other. Slowly it occurred to me … something was different. I shifted once, twice …

Where was the squeak?

Where was the spring that typically poked against my hip unless I laid just right?

The surface I was lying on was soft. Not just the cushion, but the fabric. My hand shifted against an even fabric, not the uneven larger rough weave of the couch I'd called my bed for over six years. I was warm, down right toasty beneath something of the same texture. My hand crept out from beneath and up in front of my face to discover … my head was on an actual pillow.

Shit—where am I?

I opened my eyes, but remained perfectly still. There was a ceiling fan with a light overhead that did not belong to the office. Somehow by some unknown string of events I was lying in a bed between the sheets, with a soft blanket and a quilt. I wriggled my toes, that felt off. I did it again. They moved too freely. Lifting up the blanket, I glanced down to find my bare feet between the sheets.

Where are my shoes? What monster took me and hid my shoes? I can't run off without them—there's glass and nails all over the streets.

Gripping the blanket around me, I slowly pushed myself up, trying to get a baring on this place. It couldn't be Joe's. It was clean and in fairly decent repair. A yawn escaped me. I smacked my lips, why did I taste something salty?

A series of clicks caught my attention. I peered around the edges of the blankets and froze.

That man from earlier. The burly guy with the strange beard sat on the couch leaning over the coffee table cleaning his gun.

The pressure squeezed my chest. He's gonna kill me. I gotta run, I have to get out of here … wherever here is. My bare toes touching the soft fabric reminded me. Shit! I can't. Huddling tighter, my breathing grew shorter. I wanted to dart but from here I didn't even see the door.

Fuck fuck fu—

“Oh hey, you're up.” That deep voice just about punched me. He saw, he knew I was awake. It's not like I could lie back down. “Sleep well?”

I huddled deeper into the blankets, they were over my head like a hood. My knees drawn up, I gripped the edges tight. This was so childish, hiding in a damn blanket like it could somehow protect me, sure worked great last time … my cheek still hurt from where that jerk off cop had struck me hard enough I'd seen stars inside a damn building.

My pulse raced, slamming against my ribs. Fuck, I was trapped!

He tossed the towel over the pieces of his gun and sat on the edge of the couch.

I flinched, and silently cursed myself.

“It's ok, Spike. I'm not going to hurt you.”

“Heard that before.” I muttered before I could stop myself. Burrowing deeper into the fabric refuge, I could feel my targetless stare hardening.

He held up a hand. “Ok, don't judge me by those cops I was with. I'd only met them the night before. Unfortunately, I'm not from here.”

“No shit.” I bit my tongue. Why was I talking to him?

“Look, I know things went bad the other night. How about we start over.” He flattened a hand on his chest. “My name's Jet Black. I know you're Spike, you got a last name?”

The silence stretched on. He kept waiting. When I didn't answer he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. My fingers clenched. Oh, he was good. I wanted to light up too, but it meant breaking my protective cocoon, pathetic as it was. At length I exhaled in frustration. “Spiegel.”

He took a low draw before exhaling with a victorious smile. “Spike Spiegel, eh. Nice to meet you, kid.”

He sounded sincere, but I didn't so much as look his way, keeping him in the corner of my eye. What did he want? Why was I here? Where were my frickin' shoes! Not one of these questions made it further than my mind.

He started to get up.

I couldn't help the immediate seizing of my muscles. I huddled into a tighter ball.

Slowly he sank back down on the couch, leaning on his elbow, concern creasing his face. “You've been hurt before.”

The back of my hand rubbed my cheek in a single rough pass. There was no way that asshole hadn't left a mark. It already felt bruised.

“The cops rough you up a lot in the past?”

I looked away, if only to hide the moisture growing in the corners of my eyes. I wasn't going to answer. No. Not one more word. Still, I kept him in the corner of my eye.

He bowed his head, running his empty hand through his hair. Jet was actually quite scruffy at the moment, his eyes a bit baggy. Daylight peeked through the curtain. Had he stayed up this whole time? “I'm real sorry to learn that. They've done you a real disservice. It was obvious that Joe was abusing you.”

I couldn't retreat any more into the blankets without tugging them down and fully blocking my vision. He had no right to be poking into that. And it reminded me, I had a real problem … a serious problem. My next breath was stolen by a savage twist of my gut. Ok, two serious problems. I winced and buried my face.

Heaving a sigh, Jet eyed me. “Look kid, you smell like a bar room floor. When's the last time you had a shower?”

Once more he waited as the silence grew between us. I rested my chin on my knees. “It rained three night ago.”

His eyebrow raised. “You call that a shower?”

I nodded once.

With a groan, he pointed, “Go, take a **real** shower. There's soap and hot water in there. Take as long as you need.”

A shower … my toes curled, I was already short of my shoes. The thought of being vulnerable without my clothes just about gave me a heart attack. I had no idea how terrified I must have looked as I scrambled to hold my flagging resolve. But there was no stopping it.

“Spike, don't worry. I promise. I don't want to hurt you. Look, here's the deal. Take a shower and when you're all cleaned up I'll make us something to eat.” The corners of his eyes creased. “You are in serious need of food, kid. You passed out from starvation.”

My heart beat in my ears. Vulnerable … but … the edges of the blanket parted enough that my filthy fingers peeked through. They'd left smudges on the sheets. I glanced to the side and a dark grimy outline of where I had been lying remained. I shut my eyes, trembling. I wanted too … but what if this was a set up? What if I never left this place again?

My stomach grumbled again, I clenched a hand around it trying to stop its ceaseless complaints. “Tsh!”

“Spike … you need to eat. Go on, get cleaned up.” He hadn't moved a muscle.

Slowly I released my grip and slid out of the bed. The soft carpet beneath my toes felt so foreign. I'd had to sleep with my shoes on before. Shit could happen, on an occasional bender Joe had thrown me out. I always had to be prepared. One hesitant step at a time I made my way toward the bathroom door.

The pool hall didn't have one. Not one with a shower, anyway. The moment my fingers touched the warm water I craved nothing else. Screw vulnerability. I couldn't peel off my shirt and vest fast enough. Untying the knotted rope belt and stripping off my crusty old jeans, I tossed every piece of clothing I had on the floor. Darting into the stall, I yanked the curtain closed and let the wall take my weight as I leaned under the water.

I had to glance up—the stream coming from the faucet was crystal clear. What circled the drain was dark brown, blotting out the grate.

Years. It had been years since I had felt this, and that memory was so vague as to barely exist. The water pelted my bare skin. Soap. Not only that but … I spied a bottle of shampoo. It dawned on me, I hadn't washed my hair in six years.

I wasn't about to wait any longer. Filling my palm with it I lathered it up digging my nails into my scalp. The bubbles dripping down were tinged. Maybe I'd have to do this more than once.

Suddenly a mass of bubbles flowed down over my eye. Instantly it burned like a son of bitch.

I yelped in alarm, slipping and sliding down the wall as I fought to clear my eyes, because of course—now the other one had shampoo in it.

“You ok in there?”

Alarmed, and frantic, ass over tea kettle buck-naked in the shower, this was not my most stellar moment. I rammed my head beneath the water. Relief. “Yeah …,” of course my voice cracked, “don't come in! I'm fine!” There I was crouching in a shower, scrubbing the blinding shampoo from my burning eyes. To my relief, the curtain remained undisturbed.

Maybe it would be better to start with the soap. Grabbing the bar I ground into my skin, forcing the dirt and grime out of every crevice in a lather. It took three times before the water ran clear. One more—careful—round of scrubbing my hair. And then, I just stood beneath, letting the sensation continue to trickle over my bare skin. After all, I had lived in those clothes. Once I put them on I didn't dare take them off.

It had taken so much to get me to enter here. Now I didn't want to leave. Sure, I would be clean now, but my clothes wouldn't be.

The temperature of the water edged toward chilly. Nothing good lasted long enough. I turned it off and grabbed the towel, wrapping it around me before stepping out with a sigh.

And a start.

Something was missing. I hugged the towel tighter with a quiet whine.

Where were my clothes?

_**~JET~** _

The moment the kid crossed the threshold to the bathroom and half closed the door I collapsed backward against the couch cushion. For a long moment there I thought I'd never convince him to do that. Spike had clearly been scared the moment he sat up and trying desperately to hide that fact like his life depended on it. It wasn't hard to imagine where that notion came from, given what I had already witnessed.

I lit another cigarette and kicked back. Unless he just jumped in and back out again, it would be a while. Halfway through watching an old western flick, his alarmed shriek followed by a thud launched me off the couch to the door. “You ok in there?”

Splashing, rather rapid, came from behind the curtain. “Yeah … don't come in! I'm fine!” Oh, I could guess what had happened by the octave of his voice. He was hissing each breath. How much shampoo had he gotten in his eyes?

Drifting my gaze down I spied the path of filthy clothes. There was no point in him getting cleaned just to put dirty clothes back on. Quietly I snatched them up and took them into the kitchen. The socks and shoes were already cleaner and hanging up to dry. Apparently the shoe canvas had originally been red. Now it appeared faded and stubbornly stained. His socks, a lighter shade of tan.

Dropping the shirt and vest in the sink, I reached into the jean pockets and pulled out the lighter, a folding knife, and rumpled pack of cigarettes. He had nothing else. To make sure those items stayed dry, I dropped them on the coffee table before submerging the tattered jeans into the sink. More scrubbing. It took me an obscene amount of effort until the cold water finally ran clear. I hung the clothing up just in time to wander toward the couch.

Wrapped in a large towel like cloak, Spike strode out with an air of confidence. He immediately picked up his lighter and tugged out a cigarette from the pack, lighting it up before he sat down on the couch. Adopting that confident demeanor from the pool hall, he didn't look at me beneath the sopping mat of his hair. His actual skin tone paler than I had imagined now that he wasn't caked in grime, frankly his complexion didn't speak of good health. It screamed of prolonged malnourishment. Still an unspoken question hung in the air.

He couldn't sit there wrapped in a towel for the hours it would take his clothing to dry. I pulled open my suitcase and dug out a white sleeveless undershirt. There was no way it would fit him right, but at the very least he'd be covered. I held it out. “Here. You can wear this until your clothes dry.”

The illusion of calm cool demeanor shifted as he glanced over at me. This wasn't even close to the level he had displayed in the pool hall, the edge was duller, more precarious. “You washed my clothes?”

“Of course. When was the last time you did that?”

He made a rude nose. “Never.” Setting his cigarette in an ash tray, he took the offered shirt from me with calloused fingers, thick from where I had seen them contact the cue. He tugged my shirt over his head, the towel fell away gathering in his lap and revealing his scant frame. God, he was skinny. And I was right. The shirt sized for a man of my girth covered him in abundance, four of him could fit inside it. It was way too long. The neckline falling halfway down his chest revealing his ribs. I could've counted them from across the room for the shadows they cast. The shirt itself hung down to his knees as he discarded the towel.

“I said we had a deal.” I fetched the ramen noodle cups I had steeping in the kitchen and handed him one.

Those eyes stared at the offered food for a long moment. His hand hovered inches from it as if I might be mocking him. I remained steadfast. “Go on, Spike, take it.” He snatched it from me, devouring it right away with a blatant disregard for the chopsticks.

“Easy kid, try tasting that.”

That only slowed him marginally.

I shook my head. “When's the last time you had a hot meal?”

Slurping up the mouthful of noodles he swallowed before gripping the cub and staring into it a bit somber. “I … I honestly don't remember.”

My chest tightened. He sat beside me, his legs curled up. I couldn't help but spy it. A huge recently healed scar on the back of his right calf that looked like a series of puncture wounds. It wasn't his only scar. He bore several—puckers from knife lacerations, at least one bullet divot that I could see, more than one bite scar from the curs. Joe hadn't shielded him from shit.

“What happened here?” I reached down pointing to his calf.

In mid chew, he absolutely froze. His eyes widened.

Carefully I withdrew the gesture.

The moment I had cleared the space, he shifted, pulling his leg beneath the overhang of the shirt. He dug back into the cup, tipping it so he could get very last drop.

That wouldn't be enough. Carrying my own cup with me back out to the kitchen I picked at it as I started a batch of stir fry. Cutting up an array of vegetables and trimming up some beef I had picked up from the store. The aroma drifted into the air.

I could hear him sniffing long before I stole a quick glance over my shoulder. He stood at the end of the counter, curious brown eyes watching the batch as I tossed it in the pan over the heat. I chuckled, “Patience, this takes a bit longer than a cup of noodles.”

He blinked before his eyes narrowed. “You're making … ?” He shook his head. “You mean … I can have some of that?”

I tossed it again listening to the sizzle. “Of course. What? Did you think this was all for me?”

It had been a joke, a lighthearted remark meant to put him at ease, to make him laugh. But that was hardly the reaction I got. His gaze fell to the floor as he bit his lip. “Why?”

Had I heard him right? I furrowed my brow getting the feeling that reaching this kid going to be complicated. “Why what?”

His eyes were hungry, desperate as he watched the fresh food flipping in the pan. His hand gripped his bare upper arm as the floor drew his gaze for the second time in as many minutes. “Why are you doing this?” He took a step backward, “What's the catch? What do you want from me?” He may have been standing, but the exhaustion had crept back into his voice.

Turning off the burner I divided the food onto two plates and held one out for him. “No catch, kid.”

He stared between me and the food, disbelief written plainly in his eyes. “No one does this for nothing … not here, not ever.”

I ruffled his hair. “I'm not from here, I'm from Ganymede. Now, go on and eat up.” Sitting down on the couch I dug into my own plate watching another old western. Must be a marathon on this station.

At length, Spike padded past me, the plate in his hands. This time when he sat at the other end of the couch he ate a bit slower. I watching him out of the corner of my eye more than the movie. His eyes rolled back as he picked at the individual items in the stir fry, savoring each one. It didn't escape me that he favored the beef cuts.

We both were idly watching the movie. I had to wonder … there hadn't been a broadcast receiver anywhere in the bar or in the office, had he seen much? Did he have a favorite show?

I was about to ask him when I noticed, with an empty plate in his lap he was starting to nod off. I nudged his shoulder. He jerked awake. Taking the plate from him, I gestured to the bed. “Hey, you look tired. Why don't you go on and get some more rest.”

“But … ”

“There's still a clean side to that bed. Go on, I'll wash the dishes.” I carried the plates to the sink ans finished the task in no time. By the time I turned around I found him curled up under the blankets on the cleaner side of the bed, already fallen into a deep sleep. I smiled and sat down on the couch, pulling the towel back. Time to finish my task.


	5. Session 5

_**~SPIKE~** _

I couldn't believe my luck. When I opened my eyes he was in the shower. I also couldn't believe it was morning. Somehow I had slept through the rest of the day and all the next night. Far more sleep than I was used to. Still, I pulled the covers back and quietly crawled out of the bed.

As soundlessly as possible I crept across the room toward my hanging clothes, grabbing my lighter, knife, and cigarettes along the way. Fortunately everything was dry. If I was quick, he'd never know. I kept my eyes and ears keened toward the bathroom.

Swiftly as possible I slipped into my jeans and re-rolled the cuffs. Taking off his over-sized shirt, I tossed it aside and yanked my baggy long-sleeve shirt over my head, ducking into the vest. Snatching my socks and shoes I hastily put them on, kneeling down to cinch the laces that always seemed to come untied.

As I stood up I spied an apple on the counter.

With a sly grin I swiped it, just about to conceal it into my pocket when the aroma caught my nose. I looked over my shoulder to find a twin to the apple in my hand. Not only that but steam rising up from the pot on the stove. On my tiptoes I stole a glance inside. It seemed to be some type of grain boiling. A decent amount of it too.

Next to the pot sat two bowls.

Two.

Suddenly that apple weighed a ton in my hand. I stared at it, swallowing. For possibly the first time in my memory guilt halted me.

No. Don't fall for it, Spike!

I didn't know his motive—there would be a price to this! There had to be a ulterior motive. Determined, I quietly made my way to the door, apple concealed in my pocket, hand on the door knob turning it … I would be free in a moment.

Yesterday … that stir fry, that one meal had been more food than I had eaten in a typical week. That was more meat than a typical month. It had been hot, fresh … not verging on spoiled. My mouth watered just remembering it.

I stared at the closed the door. The knob in my fingers.

Two bowls. I had to turn and stare at them to believe it. Scrubbing my eyes it wasn't enough to convince me. I crept back to the counter and touched them, running my fingers along the smooth glazed surface. They were real.

What was he getting at? What did he want? Jet was a cop. Cops meant a whole lot of harassment.

My stomach voiced its opinion on the matter rather loudly. _More food in one meal than in a week._ And I had nowhere else to go, not with the pool hall boarded up.

Fuck! I had to be a moron to even consider blowing this … at least … without eating another meal. Shoulders falling I pulled the apple out of my pocket and set it back where I had found it. I trudged back out into the room. His suitcase was open, to my surprise—his wallet sticking out of the pants pocket. Jackpot! Slipping it out I grinned, riffling through to find … that my pool table antics had practically cleared him out of his ready cash. There was an access card, but it's not like I had a reader or an account to transfer too. What a disappointment this Jet Black was.

Just about to discard the wallet, something caught my eye. A photograph. Blue. I had never seen that much blue. Was that even real? A large spaceship sat floating, reflected on the surface. There was a large object covering half the sky, like a striped moon but much much bigger. On the bow of the ship a couple stood waving at the camera and smiling. Right in front of them a teenage boy with windblown black hair gripped a pole with a fish dangling on it. I squinted, was that a younger Jet?

The shower turned off with a squeak. The last thing I wanted was to be caught! Hastily I pushed the photo back in and rammed the wallet into the pocket.

Look casual … look casual … if I were in the pool hall I knew a dozen different ways to pull that off. But this wasn't the hall! There wasn't a bar or a table to lean against. I spun in a circle trying to figure out what to do. There was no way I could tuck myself back in bed, what—did I magically become clothed?

At a loss, I pulled out a cigarette and my lighter. I flopped down on the couch intending to land sitting up. To my dismay, I misjudged and somehow ended up landing sprawled on my back. Close enough. I could see his shadow moving toward the door. I flicked the lighter, just managing to get the flame in time.

Through half hooded eyes I watched him emerge from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Oh, so that's where I left my pants. Breakfast should be ready soon. You know how to slice apples? There's a couple on the counter, why don't you get started.”

Without waiting for my answer, he ambled back into the bathroom.

Slicing apples? I sat up slowly. No, I'd never done that before. Didn't most people just gnaw on them?

Wandering back to the fruit, I picked it up and scratched my head. Pulling out my pocket knife I stabbed the juicy thing, the short blade buried into it. When I tried to move it, it was stuck. Wedged in tight to what I assumed was the core.

Jet padded behind me, dressed casually but barefoot. He tossed the other apple into the air and caught it. With a larger kitchen knife he sliced the fruit in two.

I stared at my skewered attempt, jiggling the stuck blade.

In deft strokes he sliced the halves again, then in a curved motion removed the core. Humming, he pushed the quarter of the fruit along the edge of the blade and thin slices peeled off. Without a word, he picked mine up, tugged the pocket knife out and did the same thing with mine. “That's too small of a blade for this job. See?”

I picked up one of the slices, able to see the shadow of my finger through it. How did he get it that thin?

Taking up the pan, he divided the thick boiled oats between the two bowls before adding the apple slices to them. “Here you go, hot apple cinnamon oatmeal.”

I sniffed the sweet aroma and instantly drooled.

He took his bowl out to the couch, flopping down and turning through the channels. Carrying mine out, I joined him, on the end closest to the door. Something about this smelled familiar. I had eaten something like it before … but not recently. It would have been before I could remember clearly.

Taking up a spoonful I shoveled it in.

And regretted it!

“Aahhhh haaaaa!” Mouth open, I tried to waft cool air on my tongue.

Jet blinked at me. “It's hot, Spike. You have to blow on it first.”

As soon as I could, I scowled at him. “Now you tell me.”

“Give it a few minutes to cool down.” Pointing to the screen he asked, “What do you like to watch?”

I lifted a shoulder, idly I stirred the oatmeal watching it swallow the apple slices.

Jet flicked through, at last stopping on the sound of a gun shot ricocheting and some twangy music. Two ridiculously clad actors in cowboy gear appeared on the screen in front of the words Big Shot!

“ _Howdy all you bounty hunters in the system! How y'all doing?”_

“Bounty hunter?”

Jet blew on a spoonful before munching on it. “They're citizens who chase down people who have warrants out for their arrest.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “But uhhh, that's what cops do.”

“The people who do this do it for money. Depending on the bounty the pay can be quite good.”

That seemed rather odd. Why would cops pay people to do their job for them? I lifted the spoonful out carefully blowing on it before getting my first actual taste. Sweet, it melted in my mouth. I couldn't help it, my eyes rolled back. I hated how long it took to cool each mouthful in between. But I'd already burned myself. I wasn't gonna do that again.

I stared at the screen and the series of zeroes stretching across the top. My jaw hung limp. “They'll pay that much for bringing that loser in?”

“Yup. He's a dangerous guy with a record for killing and assaulting people. So they pay for the risk involved in bringing him in alive.”

“Huh.” I tried to imagine doing just one thing and having that bring in far more than I had ever brought in in a week—in both bets and pocket surfing. It left me dizzy. Specially since I wasn't kidding about that guy being a loser. I had beaten his ass at pool about a month ago. Pondering this notion, I dug into the oatmeal, in no time I scraped the bottom of the bowl just as Jet's phone rang.

“Hello? … Yeah, I'm still in the hotel, why? … Of course I can come down there now.” He hung up the phone and his eyes turned to me, widening before his head flopped into his hand. “What am I going to do with you?”

That question worried me.

_**~SPIKE~** _

Deseado's precinct office. I should have known this shit was too good to be true. The moment I realized where we were walking, I started to map out escape routes. The guys knew me down here for a rather long list of _misunderstandings_. Our history was anything but stellar.

Jet slowed, glancing over his shoulder as he adjusted his fedora. “It's ok, Spike. You're with me.”

“Heh … yeah. I don't think they're gonna care about that factor. Look, it's been nice and all, but I think it's time for me to split.”

“This shouldn't take long.” He held out a beckoning hand. “Just stay next to me and everything will be fine.”

I took a step back, eyeing him suspiciously. Had they changed their mind about the paperwork? I glanced at the street leading away from this nest of assholes.

“Tch, how about this, once I'm done with whatever they need we'll go get lunch, ok? You like burgers?”

Snapping my head his way, I stared. Damn it I was salivating so much I had to swallow. Hadn't I just eaten? Damn you traitorous stomach! I'd stumbled across a few half eaten burgers in the trash before. Cold of course. I knew they would supposed to be hot. Two meals in one day? My eyes narrowed as I rammed my hands in my pockets, coming up to his side. I hoped I didn't regret this. Trudging beside him I resumed my cool demeanor repeating to myself over and over again: I belong here. I belong here.

That lasted as far as the front desk of the run down department. Two cops turned and locked eyes on me.

I belong here! The voice in my head had changed octaves, speeding up until it tripped over the words. One of the cops narrowed his eyes, but the moment he made a motion my way Jet tossed a covert glare his way. He resumed leaning on the worn counter hitting on the secretary.

I released a breath as we passed deeper into the hallways passing through the bullpen with several familiar faces. A jerk off who once tossed me against the wall and kicked me for loitering threw me a glare as we passed. I gave him a coy grin … and a quick unseen grab into his pocket. In a second my deft hand deposited his wallet into my possession. All these cops thinking they got home turf advantage. Oh never mind, this was going to be fun after all!

_**~JET~** _

Rich glanced up from his desk, he stopped mid bite on a donut and stared at me, well past me.

Leaning back at his desk, Dodge had his feet up as he was paging through a magazine with more bare skin than a chicken butcher's block. “What were you sayin', Rich?” When he looked up, he followed the rigid point. Yeah. They weren't looking at me. “What the fuck you doin' with that little shit, moon boy?”

I shifted my gaze back, something I hadn't dared since we'd entered the building. All the shocked expressions told me what I needed to know. Spike was still behind me, silent as a ghost. This kid had some incredible talent. He leaned against a desk, with a lazy-eyed smirk.

Dodge slammed his mag on his desk, his chair creaked as he got up, cracking his knuckles. “That's it. The point was we weren't supposed to see your ass ever again.”

Spike shrugged a shoulder, cold as Callisto ice. “Guess you guys really do suck at your job.”

“Yeah, well—now I'm gonna finish it.” He reached out to grab Spike.

I grasped his wrist, arresting the motion a hairsbreadth from the kid. To his credit, Spike didn't even flinch. He offered a slow cocky smile as I growled, “Lay off the kid.”

Rich wiped the crumbs from his uniform blues. “I knew you was a fool, Jet, didn't take you for a complete sap. That kid is pure trouble.”

“I didn't ask for your bullshit opinion. Now, the kid is with me, you leave him alone. What did you want me here for?”

Backing off, Dodge went around the other side of his desk and flopped down. “We got a tip to follow up on. Joe wasn't real happy to cooperate. But we enticed him to.”

I didn't miss the bruised knuckles. And by the light in his eyes as he edged closer, neither did Spike. “Lemme guess, you want me to go pay a visit to someone else.” This couldn't have been conveyed over the phone? Of course it couldn't … this was a power play. A lame one at that.

Rich nodded. “Little pawn shop called Golden Deals. Lookin' for a stooge named Petunia.”

Instantly my brow creased. “Petunia?”

They nodded in unison. Dodge went on, “Remember, you ain't no cop. But your eyes are mighty dry.” He winked.

I massaged the bridge of my nose. “Lemme guess, more of that stuff.”

Rich grinned. “See? Told yah we had a bright one.” He scowled toward Spike. “Selectively bright, that is. Shop should still be open today. Let us know what the reply is.”

I turned and waved them off. But something bothered me, I couldn't put my finger on it. We were at the far end of the bullpen when I heard Dodge, “Hey, where's my watch?”

Sliding my gaze over, I spied Spike's cool smirk widen. Then I heard it. A little jingle from his pocket.

Just above my breath I hissed, “Did you steal from him?”

Spike laced his fingers behind his head and grinned, whispering back, “It's the schmuck's fault for trying to grab me.”

I glared hard at him. “Find a way to leave it here, covertly!”

He rolled his eyes.

“Now!” I hissed, hoping no one noticed.

Spike sighed, and reached into his pocket. To my dismay it took him a couple tries to fish out the right one.

I pushed him into a restroom, which turned out to be empty. “How much did you take?”

Item after item left his pocket, watches, rings, gold-plated pens, a small cheap desktop award.

“Spike! Have you been pocketing shit this whole time?”

He nodded, not the least bit flustered. In fact his eyes were half lidded. “What?”

“It's stealing!”

“So?”

“Not _so_! Stealing is illegal.”

He cocked his hip and folded his arms over his chest. “If I hadn't stolen stuff I'd be naked and dead.”

I held up a finger and the lecture died in my throat. “Tch … look. We can't possibly go back and have you return all this stuff. Leave it here, in the building on our way out.”

His jaw dropped. “All of it?”

My foot tapped the ground. “Every single item. I'm searching those pockets once we leave here. If there's anything other than your knife, lighter, and cigarettes you're going to be sorry.”

The scowl that earned me could have curdled milk. “Sour puss.”

“I mean it.”

“Yeah yeah, I got it. Fine.” With a deft flick he tossed Dodge's watch into the urinal and walked out the door.

Already I had headache. But I walked behind the kid watching as he sporadically plunked his stash in random locations. It was like a strangely specific cyclone had hit the office. Why did I have a bad feeli—was that a wallet? Ohhh God. I was going to need to see a doctor about blood pressure after this.

At last outside the building I strode casually until we reached the corner. My hand grabbed his wrist the moment he started to make a dart for it. “Alright Spike, fess up time. Will I find anything else in your pockets?”

“No. Why do you care?” He shot back. “It's not like I'm your kid or anything. Hey!”

I turned his pocket out, that one was empty. His other only had the three items I knew to be his. His back pockets were empty. Thankfully.

“See? I told yah. Why doesn't anyone just trust me?”

I groaned as I let go of his wrist. “Well, you just swiped a bunch of random stuff from cops.”

“And?”

“In their own station!”

“And?”

“Spike! They're cops!”

He eyed me unblinking. “They're off-leash ass-munchers.”

“They're my colleagues.”

“Fine.” He lit a cigarette and blew out a puff of smoke. “Then your colleagues are ass-munchers.”

I sighed, clearly I wasn't going to gain ground with him. “Shit … now how am I gonna find this Golden Deals place?”

“Hey, we still on for that burger?”

“I make a promise, I keep it.”

“Hot burgers …” he cocked his head, “... not stale ones from a dumpster?”

“Ewwww! No! Why would I eat something that's been thrown away?”

Spike waved a hand. “Better keep up, flatfoot.”


	6. Session 6

_**~JET~** _

The kid may have been short, but damn could he move! I raced through the alleyways barely keeping the tail of his vest in my line of sight. He vaulted over trashcans, swung up on overhanging lights to clear fences, and at times practically ran on brick walls for a few steps. I had heard the name of these kinds of stunts, started with a 'P', not that I figured Spike knew the term—nor would have cared. He practically flew through the streets like some lanky dark gray bird.

By the time I stumbled breathlessly against a streetlamp I hadn't the foggiest clue where the hell we were. Spike leaned back on the crumbling brick facade of the shop, his shoe flat against it, arms crossed, cigarette casting a tendril that the wind stole away. In flecked gold letters on the window it read _Golden Deals_.

“How did you know where this was?” I huffed, trying to catch my breath while massaging the stitch in my side.

“Easy.” Spike stared at me through half-lidded eyes. “I been here. Lotsa times.”

“Wait, do you know Petunia?”

He nodded—I did not like the glint in his eye.

“What are you not telling me about her?”

He pointed over his shoulder. “Go on in, say hello. And don't forget, 'your eyes are dry'.”

I grumbled, straightening my tie. The bell tinkled as I stepped through the doorway.

 _Golden Deals_ , a poorly lit dive of a shop littered with junk on overloaded shelves. It looked more like a flea market than anything else … possibly including the fleas by the look of some of this stuff. Old devices, many with missing buttons and switches lay stacked without rhyme or reason. In locked cases guns, blades and other weapons had been secured without any organization. 

Secured? One of the panes of glass had been shattered but a hard strike. Another pane was outright missing. This was on the main sales floor. I gripped my fedora, reminding myself I was looking for the vial of purple-eye. Or something along those lines. 

“Hey, whatcha here for?” A heavy gruff voice came out of nowhere. 

I looked around only to turn and come face to face with a tattooed man who looked like he was a body builder in a black tank top and dark gray jeans. “I uhhhh, is your wife in?”

“Wife?” His brow wrinkled as he crossed his arms glaring at me. “I ain't got no wife.”

“Oh?” I scrambled backward and ran into a shelf. Say something, anything! “I'm looking for … Petunia.”

He made a rude nose. “I'm Petunia.”

That was  **not** what I was expecting to hear. And the shock had clearly reached my face as he glowered down at me. All I could manage was a stutter.

He reached forward to grab my tie when suddenly something else snatched his gaze. He pushed me back against the shelf and stomped off down the aisle. “I thought that's what I saw! Spike, didn't I warn you not to come in here again stealing for that lowlife!”

Oh great, this was all I needed.

Kicking back, Spike's elbow leaned against a counter as he stared coolly through the smoke of his cigarette mingling with the haze in the shop. “Good thing I ain't in here for that schmuck. Won't be seeing him any more.”

“Eh? Why not?”

“I don't work for him. Place boarded up. Fucker got pinched.” Spike lifted his chin toward me. “I'm with him now. He don't make me steal.”

Petunia rubbed his chin, I stared rudely at the floral framed tattoo on his bicep. “Joe got pinched. Huh, well now, ain't that a shame. Surprised that joint lasted as long as it did. Keep your hands in your pockets and you can stay.”

Spike nodded and slipped his hands into them eyeing me. Mischief in his gaze.

Turning to me Petunia sized me up. Frankly this guy could sit on me and it would be over. I didn't want to shake his hand for the damage his grip could do. “Kay stranger. I asked you a question. What you after in my place?”

“Dry.” I blurted.

“Huh? What the fuck's that supposed to mean.”

I scrambled to remember the phrase. It was such an odd one.

Spike silently snickered and rolled his eyes. In a quick gesture, that Petunia didn't catch, he pointed to his own eye. It came to me.

“I mean my eyes are dry.”

Petunia snorted a laugh. “You? Ahahaha! Got to be kiddin' me.” 

Spike padded forward. “He's legit.”

“How would you know?”

“Cause, Joe lost a bet to him. Paid him off with the stuff.”

My eyes weren't dry but my mouth was—utterly. Nothing of the sort had happened. We hadn't discussed a backstory. I hadn't told him anything. Spike was just taking the ball and running with it, running away with it.

Petunia eyed me and then loomed over Spike, who didn't so much as flinch. “Something ain't addin' up. How you end up with the suit?”

“Easy. Sucker came back to Joe's to find out where to get more. Found it boarded up. I was still hangin' out. The guy was loaded enough to gamble big at the rail and not even bat an eye about that. Figured since Joe got all his goods from you it was likely where it came from. So … I brought him to the right place?”

Inside my stomach was doing cartwheels as I watched the two in the dangerous bluffing game. But this was the Spike I had seen mastering the rail of a pool table. Unbreakable.

Petunia slowly grinned. “Damn Joe taught you well, which was why I always hated when you waltzed in here. Tough balls though, I don't got any. And won't til the next delivery.”

I cleared my throat. “When's that?”

“Two days from now. How much you want? For you or are you lookin' for passes?”

Spike leaned his head to the far side.

Hoping I read him right I rumbled, “The latter. Just getting setup here.”

Petunia brightened. “So, you're looking for a steady supply. Yeah. I could be the middle for yah. If the price is right.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I might have a new best friend.”

Under his stare I felt a bit uncomfortable. Behind him, Spike just grinned.

_**~SPIKE~** _

He'd promised a burger. To my delighted surprise I was now sitting at the counter of a greasy spoon waiting for our order. Jet had gone to the restroom to wash his hands after the lengthy handshake from Petunia. I didn't mind, gave me a chance to flip through a magazine. Unable to reach the bars of the stool, I kicked my feet idly. 

Jet came wandering back and sat on the stool beside me. “I'm tellin' yah, I don't trus—wait a second, where did you get that? Is that Dodge's?”

I flipped the page and grinned. That's what guys did when they saw next-to-naked girls in those weird poses that looked super uncomfortable. These girls made them look good … I think. 

Jet snatched it out of my hands. “Spike! I told you to return everything!”

I glowered. “Everything in my pockets.”

“Yes!”

“That wasn't in my pocket.”

He was about to say something when he seemed to change his mind. In a wordless grumble he tucked it inside his jacket. “Look kid, you have to stop gaming the system like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know what I meant, yet you kept this anyway. That is dishonest.”

I closed my eyes and leaned back, snoring.

“What have I gotten myself into.”

Cracking an eye open, I shrugged. “You want honesty? There's no way you would have found that place today on your own. Petunia would have eaten you for a snack.”

“What's with his name?”

I chuckled, “Good thing you didn't ask him that. Last guy who did was twisted into a pretzel and left in the back alley for the trash truck.”

He blinked at me, waiting. 

“Petunia, bet you're thinking it's a flower. Not in his case.” I tapped the skin of my forearm. “It's a drug, called that because of the marks it leaves. Look, the fact is you clearly don't belong here. You're clean and a nice guy, but folk around here ain't nice. They don't help people.”

He leaned on the counter. “You helped me.”

I offered him a casual stare. At that moment our burgers arrived. “Heh, yeah right. That's what I did. No other reason than I'm nice.” I snorted unable to stomach the sarcasm any longer. My hand grasped the burger. It was piping hot, grease running down my fingers. And it had cheese, melted cheese! These things were pretty good ice cold and half eaten. But fresh … my eyes rolled back as I chewed the first bite. A war began—inhale this thing as fast as I could, or savor every bite.

The latter won out. I didn't even care that I was making all manner of pleasurable mumbles as I chowed down. I was probably halfway through it when Jet cleared his throat. “So, we square for earlier?”

I tried to answer through a full mouth with only earned me a confused stare. Swallowing first, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “I suppose. Not sure what I'm gonna do now, I mean some of that stuff would have sold for a quite a bit.”

The more I spoke, the darker his expression grew. “Spike, you don't have to steal.”

I chewed another mouthful of the burger. “Really? How else am I supposed to survive? I gotta find a place to stay too.”

“No you don't.”

“The pool hall I've been crashing at for years is a bust now. So yeah, I kinda do.”

Jet set his burger down and stared at me until I looked up. “You were pretty slick there at the Golden Deals. You knew where it was.”

“I know where everything is here. Deseado isn't that big.”

The waitress leaned on the counter. “Can I get you boys anything else?”

“I'll take a beer.” 

Instantly Jet held up a hand to her. “No he won't. Spike, you shouldn't drink alcohol.”

I smirked. “Why not? Been drinking since I as a kid.”

“You **are** a kid.”

“Am not.”

“You're twelve.”

I held up a finger. “I never said that.”

He blubbered, “But you … wait a second,” the wheels they were a turnin' “… ohhh, you little—! It doesn't matter. You shouldn't be drinking.”

I glared up at him. 

He addressed the waitress. “Get me a coffee, and him … uhh … something without alcohol.”

She eyed me before moving off, “Good luck getting that one on the wagon.”

“Does everyone around here know you?”

“Pretty much, I got a reputation.” 

As I went to take another bite Jet held out a hand. “Look, you were right. I wouldn't have found that Golden Deals joint without help. So, here's the deal. You be my guide to Deseado and I'll let you share my room and food.”

I almost choked. Fortunately, I coughed up what had gone down the wrong tube. When I recovered my breath, I stared at him. “You're serious?”

He was serious. I could see it in his expression. 

“Heh, you are crazy.”

“It's real simple. All you have to do is stop pocketing things that don't belong to you.”

My shoulders fell. The catch. There's always a catch. 

“That kind of behavior is going to get you into trouble.”

Around another bite I mumbled, “It already has. You heard those dicks at the precinct. You heard Petunia.”

Jet shrugged. “Well, then stop.”

“Easier said than done. You heard me earlier. If I hadn't taken anything,” I pinched my shirt, “I'd be naked.”

“Where did you get that?” He made the mistake of taking a bite as I gave him maybe too honest of a reply.

“Where everyone does. Off those who died in the gutters.”

Jet pounded his chest, turning bright red. Great, I just about killed the sap who was determined to save my ass. 


	7. Session 7

__ **  
**

_Fanart portrait done for me as a surprise gift of young Spike by Moira_Lathal_

_**~JET~** _

The plate sat warm in my lap as I reclined on the couch, the savory aroma of bell peppers and beef tickled my nose. There was no way I could stop salivating. I glance to my right. The kid sat next to me, maybe two feet between us, he stabbed a fork into the thin slices of stir-fried beef rather absently. His eyes, and his mind, were clearly elsewhere. He was entirely enthralled with the science show detailing the terraforming and colonization of the solar system. More than once I was concerned he might miss the plate and stab himself in the thigh.

“So, how's the food?”

He turned his head my way but his eyes were reluctant to leave the screen. “The food? Oh—yeah. It's good. What did you call this, again?”

“Bell peppers and beef.”

Now he looked down and smirked. “Rather on the nose.” He chomped down on a mouthful of both, remarking with the wad crammed in his cheek, “Doesn't matter though, cause it's delicious. You know … I've never had three full meals in a day. Can't scrounge up more than one out there, sometimes not even that. Heh, my stomach better not get used to this.”

I eyed him, picked at my own meal. “I don't see why that will be an issue.”

Couldn't be certain he heard me, the narrator and an image of Earth had completely stolen his attention. _“Every human being throughout the solar system owes their ancestry to Earth, the place of our origin. Once a wonderful place to live, that is no longer the case. Humanity built the Astral Gate system to expedite travel between the colonies. But in 2022 the one near Earth's moon unexpectedly exploded. Ever since then Earth became a less hospitable planet to live on. Rock showers occur on a daily basis as the debris in orbit is gradually pulled from the surface. Mars, already one of the most settled of the colonies and largely regarded as the capitol of the system, underwent a rapid influx of refugees from the horrific conditions that sent populations underground … ”_

Spike set the fork down and scratched his head. “So … this is Mars. And we're not from here originally?”

“ **You** probably are, kid. But yeah, we kinda took over this place a ways back.”

“Huh.” He blinked looking vaguely up. “Deseado is a crater city, but there are places beyond it, just like this?”

I laughed. “Don't know of any place quite like _this_. But there are lots of other crater cities on Mars. Ganymede, the moon where I am from, the cities are built on floating platforms because the planet is largely an ocean.”

“Like that photo.”

“Yeah … wait, what photo?”

He pointed, “The one in … ” suddenly his eyes widened and he looked at the screen, his finger rapidly shifted toward the screen, “ … the show. You must not have been looking when they showed it.”

Ganymede hadn't been mentioned yet. There was something about the momentary panic in his eyes. He went back to eating before I could form the right question.

“You know, kid, you're pretty quick at picking up new things. Seems like you're eager to learn.”

“Well yeah, I suppose. I mean, stupid kids get killed quick. Only the clever ones stand a chance at living out in the gutters. Just the way the world works.”

Something had bothered me for sometime, and he seemed relaxed enough as he chewed the last mouthful from his plate. “Spike, where are your parents?”

He didn't look at me. He didn't look at anything. After what seemed like forever he forced himself to swallow and I was fairly certain I knew the unspoken answer when he turned away from me, getting off the couch to deliver the plate to the kitchen.

Well, I blew that one. With a sigh, I got up and followed him in. “There's more if you want seconds.”

He paused, hands over the sink still holding the plate. He eyed the pan and the still steaming food.

“I'm serious. There's plenty.” I walked past him and plopped a large spoonful on my plate, holding up the empty spoon I eyed him, waiting.

Tentatively he switched paths, and I found the plate right beside the pan. His hungry eyes watched as I put a heaping spoonful on it for him. He didn't smile.

“Something wrong?”

Staring at the food he swallowed before he muttered, “When you're done here … with the case … what are you going to do? Go back to Ganymede?”

“Well yeah, of course I will. It's my home.”

It was subtle. Hard to see on such small shoulders, but they fell ever so slightly. “Yeah … figures.” He wandered out to the couch and flopped down, picking at the food.

We ate in silence. Now he didn't seem to be interest in the show anymore. Once we finished I took his plate to the kitchen. I needed something to engage him. He was certainly clever which gave me one idea. Digging into my bag I pulled out a game. “You ever played shogi before?” When he shook his head, I grinned. “Ok, how about I teach you.”

The first game was a walk through. To my surprise, he didn't ask much more than confirming which pieces were which. He wasn't completely untaught—he was actually reading. I had wondered if he lacked interest in my lame attempt. The second game he fumbled through. On the third that half-lidded lazy stare took over and he barely paused after I moved, snapping the pieces in what seemed like random moves. I thought he lacked strategy. However, I failed to beat him. Three more games, he won every time!

By now his eyelids were truly drooping. “It's getting late. Why don't you get ready for bed.”

His nose wrinkled. “Wuh?”

“Get changed for bed.”

He looked down at his clothing. Somehow I had convinced him to take his shoes off when we got here. But now it looked like I had asked the world of him.

Grabbing the sleeveless undershirt I had given him before, I held it out. “You can use this as a nightshirt for now.”

Spike stared at it, his gaze flicked to the door.

So that was his concern. I offered him the most disarming smile I could muster. “Most people don't sleep in the clothes they wear. That makes them all wrinkled. I promise you, you're safe here. You won't need to run at a moment's notice. Take this into the bathroom and change for the night. You'll be more comfortable.”

He was still, reminding me of a dog who'd been beaten for trying to take something offered. I didn't move, just sat there holding the shirt out and waiting. It lasted over a minute but he reached out and took the shirt gently. Without a word he drifted toward the bathroom.

“When you're ready, pick which side of the bed you want.”

He paused and for the first time he looked at it. We'd left it a mess this morning. Now it was perfectly made with clean sheets. His eyes widened. “But … ”

“Room service.” I chuckled. “Bet they were a bit miffed about the dirt. But it's too late now. At least that won't be an issue tonight.”

“Yeah,” he muttered distractedly before vanishing into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

I took the time to scrub the dishes. Halfway through I saw his reflection walking across the floor with my shirt hanging too long, his clothes bundled under his arm. He set them right beside the bed before climbing up and crawling between the sheets. By the time I finished the last dish, he was snoring.

I smiled. A few more days of some hearty meals and solid sleep would do him some real good.

_**~SPIKE~** _

Warmth. It felt so nice as I snuggled down into the softness. This had to be a dream. A rather pleasant one. I didn't want to wake up and find Joe looming over me with a bottle in his hand. My shoulder itched. I reached up and scratched it … wait … my shoulder was bare.

Cracking my eyes open, I blinked as the room came into focus.

This wasn't the pool hall office. I wasn't on an old couch under a ratty blanket. I stirred and my bare legs shifted against the sheets setting my heart racing. This wasn't adding up. Half awake I scrambled to remember what happened.

A rumbling snore came from behind me.

I wasn't alone! I turned slowly, eyes wide as a cold sweat broke out.

A man slept soundly on the pillow right next me. His jaw slack beneath a beard, his hand resting on the pillow beside him. I realized with horror I was within his reach.

A very undignified shriek left my throat as I backpedaled—right off the edge of the bed, landing directly on my ass hard on the floor. “Oof!”

A moment later the man's face appeared over me marked with concern. “Spike! You ok, kid?”

The only hurt part of me was my pride as I automatically cowered beneath my arms. At the sound of his voice it came back to me. Jet … this man's name was Jet. For some unknown reason he hadn't turned on me … yet. I rubbed my eyes.

“What happened? Did you have a bad dream or something?”

“Yeah.” That's it, let him believe that. I stood up slowly, finding my clothes beneath me. Gathering them up, I went toward the bathroom and changed instantly regaining a bit more confidence in the process as I tied the old bit of rope cinching my jeans tighter around my waist.

By the time I exited the bathroom the scent of something savory hung in the air. I lookedtoward the stove to find Jet wearing a pair of sweatpants and a similar sleeveless undershirt to the one I woken in as he scrambled some eggs in a pan. He divided the batch onto two plates and handed me one along with a glass of orange juice. “There you go.”

Wordlessly I sat down and started to pick at them. They were wonderful, melting in my mouth like the rest of the fresh food he had treated me too. Sitting beside me, he spoke around a mouthful, “After breakfast, how about you show me around this crater. Until the next meeting with Petunia I don't have anything after I checked in with the local station. So, turns out this time is my own.”

I gulped down some of the juice before furrowing my brow at him. “Why do you want to see it?”

“Call it curiosity.”

I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

After breakfast I did exactly as he asked … although I wasn't certain he was pleased with my method. He wanted to see the crater, so without a word I scrambled up the inside of an old rickety burnt building. Five stories up afforded a nice view of the city. Well, as nice of one as looking at this slum offered.

Several minutes later, Jet stumbled up onto the rooftop, leaning against the ledge huffing each breath. The red dusty wind buffeted us. I stared out at the rising wall holding this city hostage. “So … beyond there … there's a whole planet?”

Jet worked his way toward me and nodded. “Sure is. Many more cities full of other human beings. Residents of Mars, visitors from other colonies.”

I laughed and leaned back on my elbows. “Oh come on. Who would want to come to this dump?”

“The rest of Mars isn't like this … well, from what I understand.”

It was written on him, I gave a crooked grin. “You've never been to this planet before.”

Color rose to his cheeks, and not just from trying to keep up to my pace. It was amazing how much faster I could be. I could feel the boost the extra fuel had given me. That was a bane to him.

He swept his gaze all around us, this had once been the city hall before a gang war torched it, we weren't far off from the center of the crater, not that there was much to see. “What am I looking at?”

I put my hands in my pocket. Damn he had to learn to be more specific. “A slum named Deseado.”

“Very funny. Work with me, Spike. This place is a maze.”

He had that right. The streets of this place were a mess. Dead ends and alleys that crossed and bent without much sensibility. Buildings had been constructed at whim rather than a plan. Ruins were left to rot in the frequent rain storms when the weather terraformer broke down. No one bothered to finish the demolishing started by fires or explosions. Most had been hit jobs from one of the many gangs. This whole pit was a deathtrap, but it was all I remembered. Home, for what it was worth.

“Hey, isn't there a lake or a river? Some body of water?”

I shook my head. “Nope. Puddles in the street are the biggest you'll find.”

“Huh, ok.” He scanned the buildings. “Where's the police station?”

Was this a test? I pointed off to his right. “Three blocks that way. See that three story building?”

He squinted. “Oh yah, now I see it. So, where is Golden Deals?”

I thrust a thumb over my shoulder. “That way seven blocks, but the route isn't straight from the precinct. See where the long building blocks that way? That's the grocery store.”

“The one where I first ran into you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah yeah. **That** back alley.” Damn, I was hoping he'd forgotten about that. Maybe he wasn't as much of a sap as I'd thought. I caught him staring at me, pondering something.

“Spike, where did you find your food before?”

I lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Around. Usually trash cans and such. But when the weather's nice like this, I have a tactic for catching something fresh.”

“Fresh?” He wrinkled his brow. “What, did you swipe from somewhere?”

“In a manner of speaking.” I collected a few shards of brick and scrounged around the rooftop until I found a strip of old police tape. I cut it free with my knife to the perfect length.

“Uhhh, you can't eat that.”

“Patience.”

He watched my every motion from a respectable distance. I could tell he wanted to say something, ask a question, but he didn't.

Quietly I crept along the rooftop, testing each step tentatively. Roofs were known to have weak points, I'd fallen through quite a number of them. Jet hung back, watching as I closed the distance. In the middle of the roof a small gathering of pigeons hopped around bathing in a puddle, safe from the dogs up here. But not safe from me. This flock didn't have a member that had seen me before. As long I moved slow enough they didn't consider me a threat.

You can't catch a bird by grabbing them. No one was that fast, not out in the open. I suppose they could be ambushed. But I'd never succeeded on that tactic.

Carefully, I started to circle the makeshift sling with its brick payload, picking out my target. One of the pigeons looked the opposite way. It was that moment I whipped the salvo, pegging it hard in the back of its head in a puff of feathers. At the snapping of its neck. The rest of the flock took to flight abandoning their deceased friend.

No point in rushing, I sauntered over and collected the limp bird, holding up my prize by its neck. That had the desired effect. Jet's eyes were twitching as if his finger were in a light socket. It took him a moment, but he finally stuttered out, “Y—you eat that?”

“Never had pigeon before, eh? It's actually pretty tasty. I guess I kinda fibbed when I told you about not having hot meals. I wasn't thinking about this trick at the time.” I tossed it up and caught it in mid air. “Looks like today I get to treat you to lunch!”

He turned a bit green and covered his mouth.

I hid my amusement by scavenging for cooking supplies. He followed at a distance. Scattered around the roof I found some discarded wood and a piece of old flashing from a vent. With some bricks I made a crude stand and balanced the metal. The wood had fortunately been covered so it was dry, my lighter caught the feather kindling and transferred it with ease. I added more of the feathers as my knife scraped them off. It was short practiced work before I laid the naked body on the metal over the small blaze.

Leaning back, I lit a cigarette and watched the smoke from the cooking fire dance up into the sky. Jet wandered over and sat down, taking out a cigarette and joining me. “That uh, that really was an incredible shot.”

“Took me a while to learn how to do that. It's like a trick shot on the table. All in the flick of the wrist. Gives the stone its power. Pigeons are pretty easy targets. But never hit a crow.”

Jet cocked an eyebrow. “Why's that?”

“Watched an ornery thug, high off something. Anyway, he plugged a crow with his gun. Last thing he ever did. That whole flock chased him down the street. Pecked him to death.” I watched one of the black birds circling overhead. It cawed and swooped low around me before taking back into the sky. “They remember. Mind the crows.”

Over the fire, the meat began to sizzle. That was another thing about pigeons, they were small and cooked up pretty quick. I pried it with my knife, looking to see if it was done. Raw meat was a sure way to get sick. But this shredded perfectly. Taking it off the fire I ran my blade close to the ribs, cutting loose one side of the meat. It was barely a handful for me, but I handed it over to Jet on the tip of my blade.

He eyed it nervously.

I almost had to laugh, it was my turn to encourage him. “Give it a try. It's not exactly a burger, but it's about the best free food you'll find around here.”

Slowly he nibbled it as I tore into the small carcass, gnawing the strips straight off the bone. He exclaimed, “Say, that really isn't too bad.”

“Can only do this when the weather's dry enough to cook 'em. On the rainy nights best I could hope for was a maggot burger from a dumpster.”

In mid-bite, Jet gagged and choked.

“Something wrong?”

“No.” He rasped. “This is fine … it's the thought of … ”

“Beggars can't be choosers, if they are—they die. You'd be surprised what you can find in trashcans and dumpsters. Hey, you wanted a tour of the city. I know where we're going next.”

For some reason Jet gritted his teeth, his eyes wide as he stared at me. I just grinned and pulled another strip off the bones. Yanking the wing off I held it out in offering, “You want one?”


	8. Session 8

_ **Session 8** _

_**~JET~** _

I don't know what I was expecting. More filth, more death, more attempts to get me to hurl my breakfast. That was not in the least bit what Spike showed me.

In the midst of the sun pounding down into the dusty crater I found myself standing in the center of a vast chapel beneath the rotting roof, in the center an intact bell tower. Ash clung to the wood skeleton of the building where an old fire had punched holes through the ceiling. Rays of light poured through the partially shattered stained glass windows. Spike's laughter echoed off the walls as he ran through the aisle with his fingers aloft. He smiled as his fingertips changed colors in that light, shifting from red to green to blue to yellow in rapid succession.

At that moment in his eyes I glimpsed the child he was supposed to be. Playful, inquisitive, there was even a sense of innocence that I hadn't imagined I'd ever see in a boy forced to grow up too swiftly as he shared with me a rare wonder in this crater.

Color.

My footsteps echoed against the hollow walls as I followed Spike up into the rickety bell tower. By some miracle the fire hadn't touched this part of the structure. Being far more nimble than I was Spike dashed up the spiraling stairs, each one barely made a sound beneath him. But the wooden boards creaked and groaned under my feet. Still, they held.

Up at the top birds crowded in the rafters. Dark shrouded shadows with beady eyes. One of them spread their wings and cawed drifting down to perch on Spike's shoulder. The crow ruffled its feathers and rubbed its head affectionately against his cheek. Spike pulled out a piece of brightly colored ribbon and held it up. He crow took it, gently in its beak and flapped off into the upper reaches as Spike observed the path. A beam with several colorful strands dangling down.

It only made sense. They were both scavengers in this brutal world. He wasn't inherently cruel to everything. These birds were not prey to him. They were collectors as well, despite their drab feathers were known for desiring shiny or colorful objects. In a dust bowl like this there was very little of that to be found. The only green I had seen here, besides the kid's hair, was unnatural; awnings, the felt of the pool tables, the ribbon he had just gifted to a crow, the glass in these windows painting the room in ribbons of light.

Spike crouched beside the bell and grinned at me as though he held a secret. I stood at the other side trying to catch my breath. That clapper had long since corroded in place telling of how long this place had been abandoned. He licked his finger and rubbed it along the bottom edge for a fair distance, as far as he could reach, then back again.

It vibrated, voicing a strange song. I cocked my own head listening to the low voice of the bell. I wasn't expecting Spike's other hand to hold his pocket knife. He struck it—hard!

CLANG!

I covered my ears. The crows cawed and flapped, but none of them moved. It seemed as if they joined Spike in the laughter. My scowl wasn't deeply set as a moment later he ran his finger against the edge setting it to the somber tone.

“She has a pretty voice. Shame that everyone has forgotten about her up here.”

“Spike, you should be careful. This old church doesn't seem very stable.”

“Church?” He turned to me. “Is that what this place is called?”

I nodded. “Definitely. Bells like this would be used to call people to the service.”

“Not in a very long time.” He sat on the open ledge of the tower, the breeze buffeting him. “This place was gutted by fire before I found it.” A smile grew. “I used to come here just to watch the way the light played. It was so beautiful.”

The way he said that, it was earnest. But how could he not? I doubted anywhere else in this place had color to this saturation. At least not that I had seen.

He continued as the crows flitted about, dancing on the air currents out of the tower and back in again. “Tried to shelter here for a bit once, bad idea. Too drafty. When it rains, funnels right down and floods the building. See? Look down, you can see where it hits.”

There was no missing it. Several divots in the cracked tile floor showed precisely where the rain fell. “Doesn't seem like it would have been pleasant.”

“Ehh, it wasn't. But it was worth a shot on one of the nights Joe kicked me out.”

He swung a leg outside of the tower, which made me nervous even though he seemed steady enough. If he toppled from the steeple he wouldn't walk away without injury. “Joe … he didn't treat you well.” Though he wanted to ask again where Spike's folks were, he had a feeling it would lead to the same response as last time. “Why did you return to him?”

“Didn't return to _him_. Returned to his roof. Ruins like this were the only other option. The most intact ones are held by groups of other kids and gangs. Even if I scored one of those, on my own the moment I left to scavenge someone would get it. Nah, as much of a pain in the ass as he was, Joe's roof was worth it.”

“Spike, he was using you.”

He stared at me flatly. “How much of an idiot do you take me for? I knew that. But I also knew what each night spent safe from the death trap the streets are was worth. Sure, he made me steal. Sure, he blamed me when things went wrong. But a night not facing the streets was worth putting up with his crap.”

I leaned on the tower's ledge and gazed down at the city streets. I lost count of the roaming mongrels, children darting in the shadows, thugs shifting their glances. From up here it was all on display. Cars sped through nearly running over a couple kids. He hadn't been joking about the death trap. All the more I marveled at how he had beaten the odds.

Spike wasn't watching any of that. He stretched out his hand and the crow alighted delicately. It blinked at him and cawed, spreading the wings. Spike shifted his hand up and down, laughing as the bird rode the motion clearly enjoying itself. I swear I had no idea crows could laugh, but it was definitely laughing.

So, there was, beyond contesting, trust in another living being.

At length the crow took off and landed on his head, combing its beak through his snarled hair. Spike ducked and grinned, squinting one eye. “Hey, careful up there. That's attached!”

The crow peered at him upside-down and appeared to laugh with him. It took off, swooping low over the city.

“Hey kid, how did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Get that crow to trust you.”

He stared after it for a moment and shrugged. “Dunno. Just sort of happened. I've been coming up here for years. Never hurt them. Started bringing stuff they liked, and over time that one in particular decided she liked me.”

That startled me. “It's a girl? How do you know?”

Spike snorted a laugh. “Don't you know anything? Girl birds lay eggs.”

Heat burned my cheeks. “Oh yeah, of course. But … they all look alike.”

“No they don't. Not if you spend enough time with them.”

They all looked like beady-eyed black birds to me. As they hopped around the bell tower cawing … I started to listen. The cawing. There was a difference. Some were higher toned than others. Some had a different rhythm to their calls. As I watched them interacting I began to note the subtle differences in the plumage. Fascinated, I'd entirely lost track of the time.

Spike's crow returned, swooping in and perching on his shoulder again. When the ruff fluffed out I noted it was more significant than the rest. She was a healthy bird with a full wing span and bright eye to her.

I stepped closer to Spike and she glared at me, hissing and snapping her beak.

Spike stroked her. “Shhh, s'ok. I brought him here. I don't think he means us harm.”

She danced across his back onto this other shoulder and cawed. In a flurry of feathers I found myself surrounded by crows.

“Spiiikkkeee, what's going on? That's a hostile look at me.”

Taking a bright colored wrapper from his pocket, Spike held it out to me. “Take it. Trust me. Just take it, hold it up, then put it in your pocket.”

“But I don't want it.”

He half-hooded his eyes. “I said trust me, it's about the action, the display. Let them see you do it, kay?”

“Aggghhh.” I took the wrapper feeling a bit foolish. Holding it up, I nodded, and swallowed, before putting it into my pocket.

The flock of crows cocked their heads and one by one went back about their business. The big female eyed me. She flapped over to the ledge a few inches from me and examined me with a discerning eye. I had never felt more dissected by a gaze then that crow! At length she cawed and flew back up into the bell tower rafter.

Not moving an inch, I cast a glance to either side. “Am I good?”

Spike help up a finger a knowing grin on his face.

A moment later I almost fell out of the window as the bird landed nimbly on my hat. An old dented key dropped into the palm of my hand. “Uhhhh, thanks?”

She rumbled in her throat before abandoning the perch on my head.

“Now you're good.” Spike put his hands in his pockets. “Just remember, never cross them. They recall, and they'll tell the whole flock.”

I had to laugh as I looked at the key. “Kid, you got some weird friends.”


	9. Session 9

_**~JET~** _

Isn't there some brainiac line about doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? Well, for some inane reason I was doing it. Hours ago—no, uncountable matches ago, I had brought out my shogi board. And it didn't matter what I tried, the damn kid beat me every single game, most of them without even looking. He'd been enthralled with the screen where a series of crime dramas had played out to their inevitable ends. When I announced his turn, he half-ass glanced at the board, snapped a piece to its new location, and whipped his head back to watch the movie.

His instincts … that had to be what he was playing by, no one could strategize that swiftly … were incredible and savage. It reminded me of watching him misdirect while playing pool. It didn't matter what ended up on the table—he just handled it. And on the shogi board it was with the same brutal efficiency.

A scream broke out from the movie. Spike leaned over the edge of the couch as the bad guy held a gun to a hostage's head, hiding behind her. The cop sweated bullets, staring down the sight of his gun. I had to admit they played it well for tension. The music, the snap pans, the tight focus on the eyes, it was all there. In a deft shot the cop pulled the trigger and pegged the thug right between the eyes. He went down like a pile of bricks. The dame ran into the cops arms, crying onto his shoulder.

“Whoa! That was a crazy-ass shot.”

I went back to examining the board for any logical move that wouldn't screw me over. The more I looked, the more I noticed how trapped the kid had me. Fuck. “Yeah, well, it's all part of the flick's script and special effects. Real police work isn't quite like that.” Of course, that's not how they play it up when you're in training. Everyone wants to be out of the uniform and running plain-clothes. It was a miracle I'd been given this chance so soon.

“Still, guns can do that.”

“Do what?” Damn it, there has to be a move somewhere.

“Blow someone's brains out.”

I sat up straighter and hooded my eyes. “Not exactly.”

Cross-legged on the couch, with his shoes off, he planted his hands on his knees and leaned forward over the board, mischief in those young eyes. “Hell yeah—exactly. I've seen it before.”

“Spike, it's not something that you should be crowing about.”

He cocked his head. “Hey, was that a jib at me?”

I caught myself too late. Groaning, I rubbed my forehead. “No, it's just a turn of phrase.”

“Man, if I had a gun … ”

“Absolutely no!”

Instead of backing up, he only leaned closer, lighting a cigarette. “Aww, come on, I can handle it.”

“You're just a kid. It's a tool of life and death. You shouldn't want to handle something like that.”

“A tool that can even the odds? Be serious. You've seen the streets in this dump. They're deadly as hell. Why wouldn't I? Shit, if I had one of those I could … ”

My fist slammed down on the board launching the pieces into the air, they spilled onto the carpet. “I said no! You got that?”

Muttering something under his breath, he turned and faced the screen, folding his arms across his chest. For half of another fabricated cop-flick we sat there is silence. I wanted to lean down and pick up the pieces, but every motion earned me a half hidden glance from him.

What did he expect? He's a damn kid. As it was he shouldn't be smoking, and yet there he was, like the exhaust of a monoracer!

Hold on a second. He'd only had a precious few cigarettes left in his pack when I'd emptied his pockets. By now he had easily smoked twice that amount. Nowhere to keep them … had he picked someone's pockets?

Fuck!

I must have been staring overlong. He snubbed out the cigarette and padded to the bathroom, closing the door. A few minutes later he ambled out, changed into my undershirt I had lent him for sleeping in. Without a word, he crawled into bed, back to me.

Quietly I picked up my mess of discarded shogi tiles off the floor and from between the cushions reuniting the pieces with game board. Maybe an early night was a good thing. I had an appointment with Petunia. Then perhaps I'd be permitted to get out of this hellhole.

**~JET~**

I tucked my gun in the concealed holster, my badge already in a hidden pocket. If everything went right I would not be flashing either of those. The goal was to stay under the radar, to chase the trail. Grabbing my jacket I swung it on, eyeing the young boy leaning beside the door, his shoes already tied. He'd been up before me.

“Spike. I want you to stay here today.”

There was a moment's surprise before he banished it with the gesture of lighting up and inhaling the smoke. The moment I had my hand on the doorknob he eyed me. “You sure?”

I met his challenge with a cold glare. “Yeah. Stay in the hotel room. This won't take long. I'll be back in time for lunch.”

Opening the door I expected him to say something, to move into the way, step out after me. To my shock, I was able to close and lock the door behind me. Well, at least that worked. Lighting up a cigarette myself, I descended the stairs with a confident grin.

This was a simple job. Go to Golden Deal, use the cash I had received from the local precinct to purchase the drugs and try to get a lead on the mules. I was going early in hopes of crossing paths.

The sun had barely come up. Perfect. Now I just had to … uhh … oh shit. I had a serious problem.

Where was the Golden Deal from here? Was it right or left?

“Forget something?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Spike stood next to me, cigarette hanging from his lips, hands in his pockets. I glanced back and forth. “But I left you … you were behind … the door didn't open … how did you … ?”

He just smiled, lifted his shoulder and turned, striding through the streets at a swift pace.

Racing to follow him, I failed to mark the path. But before I knew it, we were in the alley across the street from the Golden Deal.

Spike leaned against the wall and stared at me through half-lidded eyes, point proven. I needed his help. That cocky little shit.

“Fine, you can come in. But don't you dare steal anything.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I mean it! Last time—”

Holding up a hand he walked closer to me. “Listen up old man, you're in a real spot tellin' me to play nice. I mean, you wouldn't even be here this quickly without me.” His eyes narrowed as he smirked, “You ever bought drugs before?”

I jerked backward. “I uhhh … well … ”

He made a rude noise. “Ha! Wow, it is a good thing I came along.”

“Wait, how do **you** know?”

“You think pool was the only game going down at Uncle Joes? Heh, not even. He dealt out of his backroom, shit he got from pawning to Petunia. And sometimes he sent me to haggle. Sooo … you got this? Or do you want me to do it?”

I groaned.

He held out a hand. “How much of a wad you got?”

“No way! I'm not tellin' you.”

“Well stingy, I have to know what we got for resources.”

Remember shogi … is this kid playing me? Still, I had no idea how to haggle in this market. Pulling out the wad I spread it out.

His eyes scanned the fan of bills, he shook his head and whistled. “Did they screw you over. Ok, this'll be a trick to get you anything if you're supposed to be a dealer.” He shrugged. “Here's what we're gonna do … ”

I had to hand it to the kid. He was sharp.

Inside the crowed confines of the Golden Deal we found Petunia cleaning a gun behind the counter. He glanced up as I entered and narrowed his eyes. When Spike wandered in behind me a smile grew. “Ahhh yes, the dealer. Good news. The shipment arrived and it's quite a load. So how much yah takin', big spender?”

At the counter I leaned one elbow on it, trying to maintain most of my height. Stay cool, the kid had told me, appear in control at all times. I took out a cigarette and bought time lighting it before I locked eyes with Petunia. “How much yah got?”

Without batting an eyelash, Petunia stated, “I got a case of a thousand vials. All yours for a low price.”

Spike leaned his back against the counter, hands in his pockets, casual as ever. Only I could see his expression, his hair concealing it from Petunia.

Reaching into my jacket I pulled out about a quarter of the wad, pre-split in the alley per his instructions. I slapped them down on the counter.

Petunia slid an insulted glare from the wad to me. “You have **got** to be shitting me. I thought you were serious.”

Damn, Spike'd only been off by a word or two. Maybe he did know this racket … which was extremely sad. I kept my hand on the money just in case. Remember what to say. “How do I know where this came from? Until I get a trial run proving this is the good shit, I'm not shelling out.”

At my side the corner of Spike's mouth turned up. I'd nailed it.

“Oh, this is the good stuff. It'll sell for eight times that insult on the counter.”

“Bullshit.” Spike barked. “He'll be lucky to get twice that fee.”

Rising to his feet, Petunia growled, “Not another word from you, cur!”

“What? You just gonna keep lying to him? Just like you.”

He was about to come around the counter and belt Spike when I held up a hand. “Kid, shut it. I got this. Fine,” I grabbed another wad out of my pocket, now fully half of what I had in deal money. “There. I'm taking a risk with this much.”

“Hah!” Petunia folded his arms. “Not even, that's a steal. You're going to make a fortune off this. If you're listening to this kid, he's scamming you. Six times what you put up, easy!”

It didn't escape me that the math didn't add up, he was trying to hustle me. That was part of the plan. I glared, preparing to pick up the money from the counter and go.

Petunia hastily put a hand on mine. “It's well worth twelve times the amount, but I'll tell you what. Double what you have on the counter and we'll call it a deal. Kay?”

Spike's smile intensified.

I grabbed the final wad and plunked it down, hand over the top. “The case.”

He vanished for a moment before returning with a large nondescript case and set it on the counter. Opening the lid, he tugged out a vial and held it up. The liquid shimmered purple.

I released the stack of woolongs, and picked up the case.

“Thank you for your business, stranger.” Petunia squirreled the cash away.

Outside the door I heaved a sigh. “All of the money.”

“And if you showed the full wad from the start you'd have walked out with nothing. Petunia's a shrewd dealer.”

I leaned over towards Spike, “Right, well, we're almost done here. Where is the precinct office from here?”

He rolled his eyes and pointed, “That way, can't miss it. One of the tallest buildings.”

“Great, go back to the hotel. I'll met you there.”

The acidic expression in his eyes just about floored me. “Talk about being ungrateful.”

“Remember what you did last time you in the building? I'm not handling that bullshit again. Hotel, now. Just do it!”

“Fine fine. I'm going.” He sauntered off, vanishing into the alleys I could never hope to navigate as I turned toward my destination.

Two blocks away an empty can rattled from around a corner followed by two thugs. One with a scar over his left eye, the other with a prosthetic fist. I held the heavy case tight to my chest. With this in my hands I couldn't possibly grab my firearm.

Eye-scar grabbed his gun. “Hehe, looks what we gots here. A new fangled dealer on our turf.”

“Shame,” the fist pounded into a palm. “you had to try and set up shop. We're just gonna have to shut you down, and take our shit back.”

A bead of sweat dripped down my face. If I set the case down, one would take it run. They maneuvered me into a dance, backing me into the alley. I wasn't close enough for help from the precinct. Shit, this wasn't good.

I held the case as a shield before me. Maybe it was bulletproof? It wasn't like I was going to actually sell this. The deal had been done, the lab could trace the origin if I brought only one vial back.

A grating squeal precluded the fire escape grinding downward accompanied by an alarmed cry.

What the hell?

_**~SPIKE~** _

I landed in the alley between the two thugs, one of them the fire escape's ladder sent backwards, knocking the gun from his hands. If nothing else it alarmed the fuck out of them. The fools hadn't heard me as I slunk down, not until the last moment!

That old man was lucky I decided to disobey his lame ass orders or he'd be a smear on the brick wall. I didn't know the names of these two, but I'd seen them _work_ before. It was never pretty. However, I did know they didn't think well on their feet. Hell, they didn't think period.

Why wasn't that gawking idiot running? True, the bulkier of the two was blocking the alley. Do I have to do everything?

Shit … while I can get back up the way I came, I doubted he could. And not with the case in his hands.

“Oh, you little fuckface!” Rubbing his head, the scarred one shuffled to his feet.

Great, they'd gotten the chance to recover. This wasn't ideal. I needed a way to even the odds.

The gleam of something metal caught my eyes.

The gun!

I scrambled for it, snatching it out from beneath his grip in a tumble. Coming upright I aimed it dead at center of him, gripping it with two hands just like the movies showed. Words, I needed the tough words. “What? You gonna plug me? You gonna plug me now? I don't think so.”

The thugs took a couple hasty steps backward. Clearly not interested in getting shot.

“Taste lead, motherfucker!”

“Spike! No—don't!”

I pulled the trigger, the images from the movie played out in my head! … and it was nothing like reality.

The gun kicked, my elbows failed to lock enough shoving the butt nearly full force into my chest and all of me backward into the brick wall. All the breath driven from me in an instant. Bricks are hard!

Jet's shadow fell over me, he had dropped the case—though I didn't hear it through the ringing in my ears. In his hands now he held his own gun, shouting at the thugs. They became a blur as they vanished, fleeing from the threat of his gun.

He turned to me and knelt down. His voice sounded like it was coming through a series of walls to reach me. “Spike, what were you thinking! Are you ok?”

I took his hand and he helped me to my feet. I nodded, rubbing my ears. The ringing remained. I was a little sore from tumbling backward, but nothing serious.

Jet finished checking me over. “Your hearing is fuzzy, isn't it.”

“Yeah.” That was weird. My voice sounded muted too.

“That'll go away.” He picked up the gun with a handkerchief and held it in front of him. “I figured you know enough physics from pool to know about force transfer. This gun has a terrible kickback and it just launched you. You weren't standing wide enough and you aren't nearly heavy enough to counteract it.”

“Clearly.” I bowed my head.

“I mean it. Are you ok?”

My pride was slaughtered, there was no bandage for that. The old man had been right about me not being able to used a gun. But physically I was alright, so I nodded.

He ruffled my hair. “Thank you for saving my six, kid. Now, come on, let's get these to the precinct. We have a chance of tagging the supply line with this gun you pinched.”


	10. Session 10

_ **Session 10** _

_**~JET~** _

As I walked through the station toward their desks all eyes were on me and the case in my hands. Of course I was keeping my eyes on the kid just behind me. I muttered, “Remember our agreement. Your hands stay in your pockets the whole time.”

Spike threw me a half-hooded glare and huffed a breath. After that alley he'd been a little less feisty. That gun had kicked him hard. I had to wonder if there were fresh bruises. He didn't seem to be limping, but it wouldn't surprise me if the kid knew how to conceal injuries as a survival tactic. He trudged along, clearly guarded behind that nonchalant expression.

No one moved to intercept us, to my surprise. Had they discovered everything that Spike's sticky fingers had relocated last time he'd been here? Had they suspected him?

When he passed an officer, the man held his hands over his pockets, throwing Spike some serious shade.

Yup. They knew.

That meant the only thing keeping them from acting was … me.

Striding up to the desks where the Dodge and Rich reclined, talking about bets on some sports game, I hadn't caught which one it was. But I didn't care.

I dropped the box, effectively interrupting them. “Here. I got what you were after.”

Rich smirked. “Eh, ok. Did you meet with the mules?”

“Unfortunately no.”

Spike coughed into his hand.

My brow furrowed down at him.

Hastily he put his hand back in his pocket, but his gaze locked on my pocket.

The gun! I pulled it out still wrapped to preserve the finger prints. “Actually, we may have.”

Dodge scowled. “'We'? You telling me you're actually working with this little shit?” He leaned forward, about to poke Spike in the chest with a finger.

Spike didn't cower, he visibly braced for it. A battle hardened expression that had no business belonging to a child locked his face. Now I almost regretted telling him to leave their things alone.

“Hey.” I held out the gun, halting Dodge in mid gesture. “Here's your lead. We were jumped in the alleyway by a couple of thugs and in the commotion one of them dropped this. Get the prints off it and if the guy has a prior, you might know who's moving this stuff.” It suddenly struck me, another danger. I clamped a hand on Spike's shoulder. “The kid picked up the gun and fired a shot, scaring them off. So you'll want to get his prints to rule them out.”

Rich scoffed and picked up the evidence. “No need. We already have a file on that pesky cur.”

The heat in the air was tangible. Silent hostility from both sides. Damn it, and this time Spike hadn't done anything to warrant it.

I stepped between them, blocking the loaded stares. “So, you have what you were after. I'm going back to Ganymede.”

As I turned Rich and Dodge laughed simultaneously. “No you ain't.”

“Excuse me? You asked for a sting on the drugs. They're right there.”

Dodge rolled his fingers on the box lid. “Yeah. But the perps aren't in custody. So we're gonna need you to hang around til we process this. Kay? Then we'll see about cutting you loose.”

“But—”

Rich eyed me with a grin. “That's the deal our chief struck with yours. We gotta see this through to the end. Just having this case ain't enough. More'll follow this if we don;t nail the supply chain.” He patted the top of it with a solid thump. “We need to find the nest of rats and put an end to them. And you're stickin' around until we do.”

I heaved a sigh, not relishing more time in this slum. I swear my clothes stank like a refuse pit. I turned with a grunt. “Come on, Spike, let's go.”

Dodge waved a hand in the corner of my vision. His tone far too blissful. “We'll be in touch.”

I didn't hold back to see if the kid followed me. I couldn't wait to get outside the door. All I wanted to do was hit something. Blindly I stormed out of the station and pumped my fist, preparing to strike the crumbling brick facade of the station.

“Might not wanna do that. Might knock the whole joint down.” Spike's voice broke through the building frustration. He stood calmly next to me, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, a different brand than before. These were Lucky Strikes. Lighting it up he took a puff and lifted his eyebrows. “Not too bad. Who would have thought Dodge has even halfway decent taste.”

I gawked, glancing between him and the pack in his hands. “You … how … ”

He made a rude noise, side-eyeing me. “Dodge is a schmuck. The fact that he thinks he's slick is his weakness. I nabbed these when he tried to poke me in the chest.”

“Spike, I told you … ” I lowered my head, there had been the proof before me of why he swiped things. In a world where he had nothing, he hadn't had a choice—it was steal or die. In that station there was no sympathy for his plight. All they saw was a degenerate. “You don't have to steal anymore.”

He shrugged and eyed me through his mussy hair. “Dunno why you're so loyal to those jerks. You do know they're playing you.”

“They're fellow officers.”

He laughed. “That don't mean shit, old man. That pair are crooked as fuck.”

I folded my arms. “That's just your bias talking.”

“Ahhh, no it ain't.” He was clearly mocking them. “You're just not picking up on their take. They are using you.”

“I was sent here by my chief.”

Spike cocked an eyebrow and lifted his chin. “Who is also probably on the payroll.”

I stiffened, clamping a fist. “How dare you! These are all men committed to upholding the law.”

He doubled over in laughter. “Oh wow … I knew you were inexperienced when I played you at the table, but I had no idea you were this blind! You been missing everything!”

“You're just some punk kid!” I growled. “What would you know?”

With a smug grin he exhaled a puff of smoke into my face. “How to run a drug deal, for one.”

My jaw hung slack.

“Face it, if you had walked into that you would have failed. Fact is, lawman, if I wasn't fast on the uptake I wouldn't be alive. The evidence is all around this crater.”

I didn't want to believe him, but he pointed down the street where the emaciated body of an injured child lay collapsed against the wall of the station itself. I was about to dash for it, but Spike grabbed my sleeve and shook his head. A pack of dogs ran toward the corpse and started to devour it. Dead.

“There's nothing you can do.” Spike muttered and rolled his eyes in a dark scowl toward to the station. “But there was plenty **they** could have if they weren't running their own operations under the table. Trust me, there's more drugs running through that station than anywhere else in this entire crater.”

I shook my head. “No, that can't be right. Why would I be investigating for them then?”

He snorted a laugh. “Wow, you really are blind.” Pushing past me, he strode down the street away from the feasting dogs. “That's easy. You're flushing out their competition.”

It was unbelievable. Spike had a clear vendetta against the cops, I could see why. This just didn't make sense. Police upheld the law—they didn't break it. These substances were illegal, pushed by gangs.

Huh. What would a kid know?

As I followed him through the twisted alleys my temper simmered. What would a kid know? His way through this shit hole, I was lost with no clue where he was heading … my eyes caught another tattered corpse of a child laying amidst the trashcans. Several dogs snarled and tore at one another for the scraps.

Against the damnable odds, Spike was still alive. And through all of that armed with no weapon—except his wits. This meant he was clever and perceptive to have evaded his certain fate. I had years on him, nearly twice! How could he be right about my colleagues?

At the end of the alley, he paused and turned around, leaning against the wall to wait for me.

Shogi. Since he'd learned the logistics of the game he had been unbeatable. While I studied the board and analyzed it over several minutes, he recklessly gambled, his moves taking mere seconds and trapping me every single time with a ruthless efficiency.

What did the kid know? I grimaced. Not liking to even ponder that question nor how he came by such knowledge and instincts. I didn't want him to be right about Rich and Dodge, nor the prospect that higher ups were involved. Maybe their chief didn't know. I couldn't exactly go to him with no proof, merely the hunch of a some vagrant child who apparently had a file already. Hands that I had witnessed stealing. Shit … I hated this position. Innocent until proven guilty.

Well, they had a gun with prints. They could trace the owner, they could find the mules and arrest them. This wasn't my business.

Spike discarded his spent cigarette and smashed it beneath his shoe, the laces flopped about having come untied. “You look a bit sick. Feelin' alright?”

I paused, not wanting to meet his lazy eyes. Those eyes that were deceptive as hell. He was a child. Merely a child. “Just … preoccupied.”

“Ehh heh. Not a comforting realization, is it.”

“What would you know?” I snapped.

He lifted an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.

Too late I realized the slap in his face that statement had been. Joe had used and betrayed him at every angle. What had first appeared to have been a saving grace had entailed abuse. What kind of depraved man did it take to send a mere child to complete a drug deal at a pawn shop?

He heaved a sigh, lowing his eyes as he kicked a can. “Bein' used sucks … but you know, it's just a fact of life. Eventually it gets to be just like dealing with the rain. You learn there's not much you can do about it, and complaining doesn't stop it. Relentlessly it just keeps pouring down.”

I clenched my fist. “I'm not being used.” Storming past him, I crossed the street and trudged further banishing the words even as a cold rain plunked down, striking the filthy pavement. Shit, even the damn weather was siding with the kid.

Spike walked up beside me as the rain drenched us both to the bone. He offered me a cocked smile. “Yeah right … and I'm a business tycoon. Hey, delusions are nice, but they sure don't keep you warm at night.”

“Hey kid,” I wiped the rain from my eyes, “where are your parents?”

I expected him to do as he always had before. Ignore the question. He lowered his head, protecting himself from the pelting rain as he walked away from me, deeper into the crater. Were we going back toward the hotel?

No … this wasn't the right way. I had never seen this area before.

At length he climbed the exposed staircase of burnt out apartment building. Long ago it had been ravaged by a fire collapsing part of the outer wall through the heat. Surefooted, Spike made his way through the wreckage to stand on the beam of what had once been the living room of an apartment. By now it had been looted. The tattered flag of old police DO NOT TRESSPASS tape fluttered in the air.

“Spike,” I took great care stepping on the creaking floor, not trusting it to hold my weight, “why did you bring me here?”

His eyes were haunted as he stared at the soot darkening the walls. Not a single word, just his trembling eyes. And I knew.

He **had** answered my question. We stood in the midst of an old murder scene. This was why he was alone in this cesspit. I don't know why I had assumed his parents were still somewhere, perhaps just neglectful. Denial perhaps?

The truth … Spike was an orphan.

I put a hand on his shoulder as he bowed his head. “I'm sorry … I shouldn't have asked.”


	11. Session 11

_**~SPIKE~** _

Back at the hotel I sat on the couch, my feet drawn up, soles touching in front of me as I gripped my bare toes. Out of sight Jet bustled about in the kitchen, sending the scent of something savory into the air. I had to banish this before he came around the corner. Somehow I had managed to keep the tears from flowing simply through a stone face and keeping my mouth shut. By some stroke of luck he had engaged in small talk, not seeming to take notice that I trudged along more interested in watching my shoelaces flop with each step. I swore they would never stay tied no matter what I did.

Taking a deep breath I tried to cram it all back into the farthest corner of my mind and slam the door on it. Why had I taken him there? And not just to the damn building—but up into it!

I was such an idiot!

He had asked yet again, and I didn't have the words, I couldn't answer him any other way.

Six years I had avoided that street as much as possible. When I couldn't, I had kept my eyes on the other side of the street. Instinctively I knew it was bad news. Not that it hurt to look at it, somehow I just knew to avoid it at all costs …

When I finally laid eyes on it—I didn't feel … anything.

Completely numb. What little shreds of memory remained were not enough to grasp onto.

I couldn't recall their faces.

I hadn't known their names, though they must have had them.

The only thing I recalled was that I had lived … and they had died here. In the great void that swallowed me whole in an ash strewn wake. That morning when I had darted off from home like the disobedient little shit that I was, I had known them. The moment I returned to stare up at that burnt out rubble … they faded away. Something I could no longer have. It was easier to just walk away and leave it all behind.

No! Don't cry. What good would the tears even do? They weren't coming back. Not after all this time.

If I was so numb why the tears building? Why did my chest hurt?

I gulped in air, trying to stop it. It seemed ridiculous, he'd already seen me cry. It's not like he was similar to Joe, smacking me so hard I saw stars in broad daylight and shouting for me to grow the fuck up or stop being such a burden. That dick.

There it was. That ember lit and banished the chilling numbness. A feeling. Something to cling to.

Taking a deep breath I let it out slowly. My grip finally relaxed.

The clink of silverware turned my head. Jet walked around the corner with a couple plates of something smothered beneath a red sauce. I took mine from him as he sat down and flicked the remote on the screen, clicking through looking for something to watch. That device was a marvel. Sure did make the time go by faster. Wished Joe'd had one at the hall.

“Sorry lunch is so late. Didn't expect that errand to take so long.”

Not one word about it. I heaved a hidden sigh and dug into the sauce with the fork. Pulling it up something pale and long hung down … no, several somethings. Longer and longer. Was there no end to this? I was running out of arm!

Beside me, Jet chuckled. “It's spaghetti. A long noodle. You're supposed to twist it onto the fork, like this.”

I watched as he dipped it in and separated a few, spinning the strands into a thick sauce-laden bundle around the fork. “Huh.” Well, that looked easy.

But it wasn't. The slippery things slid right off the fork time and again. I grumbled, wondering what the deal was with this. Finally trapping a wad I spun it onto the fork quickly, ready for my first bite!

SPUT!

The whole thing flopped back onto the plate in a tangled mess, sauce everywhere. I dropped the fork with a grunt.

Jet almost choked on his mouthful, covering it with his hands.

As my stomach growled, I glared daggers at him. “You did this on purpose! Made something that's impossible to eat.”

He swallowed before speaking. “I did no such thing. I honestly didn't know you hadn't had this before. You're trying to grab too many noodles and you're whipping them. Target a smaller amount and just go slow. You'll get it. Try again.”

Like I was some infant. Peh! “Food that takes dexterity to eat! It's just stupid.” I griped even as the slower motions caught the noodles and they started winding around, picking the sauce up with them. Carefully I lifted the leveled out fork from the plate and they stayed on as I inched it closer. “Better be worth it.”

Ramming the wad into my mouth I chomped down. My eyes rolled back at the flavor. Why was something so damn delicious so bloody difficult to eat! Instantly I spun my fork trying to wind more of the frustratingly evasive noodles onto it.

Jet smiled as he watched, amusement in his eyes.

I was too hungry to bother berating him. I would give him a tongue lashing when I wasn't eating this … this … what did he call it? Spaghetti.

“Mmmmm!”

On the screen a bunch of men on horses chased one another, guns a-blazing. I idly watched as the shots weedled them off one by one, freeing the horses of their human cargo. The biggest animal here were a few of the stray dogs—the ones I scrambled to avoid like the plague! I had never seen a horse, but I heard about them. The idea of something so large it could carry people amazed me.

Soon enough my fork scraped the plate. I stared down at the stained surface now empty of food. My shoulders fell. Usually there were seconds. I held up the plate.

With the corners of his mouth turned up, he gave a short laugh and ruffled my hair. “Sorry kiddo, that's all I made. You'll have to wait for dinner. Bell peppers and beef. But for now we have some chores. Come on, time to do the dishes.”

“Huh?”

He stood up leaving me behind, plate still in hand. After a minute passed I got up and padded into the little kitchen. He'd filled the sink with soapy water. Taking the plate from me he tossed a towel into my hands. “I'll wash, you dry.”

There was no discussion. No agreement. As I stood there staring at the towel a clean plate was thrust into my hand. Oh … so **this** was how it worked. Less than amused, I sighed and started to dry it off.

_**~JET~** _

At least there was a halfway decent place to get food in this slum. We'd walked down to the convenience store just before dusk. Spike followed me like a living shadow. I wished there were some place to get him some decent clothing, something that fit him … something that hadn't come off of a dead body. That still gave me the willies, and the fact that hardly seemed to bother him. But I hadn't seen anything with potential. Most of the places around here, if they were still even in business, were dive bars and gambling joints, game halls of the like I had discovered Spike in. Maybe there were other supplies in a different district?

That seemed like a silly thought as I grabbed a couple packs of meat from the cold case, this crater was too small to even have districts.

Glancing to the side I spied Spike stiffening, sliding his eyes under that mop of tangled hair. That was a rather sour expression on his face. I tracked his line of sight to find the owner of the store standing at the end of aisle, leaning on a baseball bat, a warning glare fixed on Spike. The boy had his hands in his pockets, just as I had told him to do before we entered. Begrudgingly he had agreed. What was I supposed to do, leave him outside like a dog?

I had to break the tension. Turning to the guy I rubbed my chin. “Hey, you got any bell peppers?”

He blinked, jerking upright as I snagged his attention. “Uhhh, yeah. They're over here.”

As he led the way I shot Spike a warning glare.

His eyes widened in disbelief before he looked off to the side, pure insult in his expression. I figured he must've caught my drift. Still, I made certain I could see him at all times, just to be safe.

Picking out a bag of the peppers that were at least halfway fresh, I had everything I needed to replenish my stock. We'd be eating well now. In an odd little tension train we proceeded to the register. It did not escape me how the man behind the counter scowled at Spike the entire time, failing to even watch whether the items scanned or not. Half of them didn't.

I sighed as Spike offered him an equally hostile glare. Did this kid have a past with everyone in this crater?

Wordlessly, the owner ran my woolong card and handed it back to me. The moment he finished, he tore the receipt from the register, shoved it into one of the bags and thrust a finger toward the door. “Now, get out and take the trash out with you.”

Spike's eyes narrowed at him, he opened his mouth to speak.

Nope! Not gonna happen! I shoved a bag into his hands and pushed him toward the door. “Thank you!”

Outside, Spike scowled up at me. “Why did you thank that bastard?”

“Never mind.” I took the bag from Spike, carrying all of them myself. “I'm more interested in why he was watching you like a hungry seagull.”

He half wrinkled his nose, some of the heat simmering away. “What the heck is a seagull?”

“A bird that lives on the seas of Ganymede.” It took a whole block for me to realize why he was still staring rudely at me. Oh yeah, there were no bodies of water in Deseado period. “Heh, a sea is a vast body of water filling the whole horizon.”

He blinked, staring at me and I swear I could see him trying to envision it. At length he just shook his head. “Whatever.”

“You still haven't answered my question.”

Spike stole a glance my way, the low brow returned. “I dunno. I'm not a mind-reader or nothin'.”

I cleared my throat. “He watched you like Petunia does whenever you enter his shop. Is there a reason everyone treats you like a wandering disaster?”

His smooth steps fell out of rhythm. Now he refused to look up at me, but I spied the heat on his cheeks. “I don't know.”

But he did, it was written on his face. “Spike?”

“I told you!” He shouted, stomping a foot. “I don't fuckin' know what his problem is! His or anyone else's!”

“You stole from him, didn't you.”

He forcefully looked at the ground, stiff as a board.

A man pushed past us, shoving Spike slightly off balance. He caught it easily enough, but those eyes blazed with mischief.

Five steps later the man held up his wrist and blinked. “My watch! Where's my watch?” Alarmed, he turned and stared at Spike.

It couldn't be. He wouldn't … but there it was, the quick glint of gold entering his pocket. I grabbed his wrist, even as he protested rather loudly. Hauling him up by one arm. In the fist—the pilfered gold watch. “Drop it!”

Spike howled and kicked. “Let me go!”

“What are you thinking? Stealing again! When are you going to learn! I told you, you don't have to be a thief anymore.” Without even thinking I dropped the bags and brought my hand in a hard slap across Spike's cheek.

H yelped as his fingers released the watch. It clattered to the ground and the man picked it up. Thrusting it into his pocket he shook a fist at Spike. “You should teach that cur some manners!”

I glared into Spike's heated glare, a red blotch blooming where I had struck him. My betrayal burned in his eyes. Ohhhh he was angry now. Disappointment dripped from my words, “I have been trying, but he seems unwilling to learn.”

“I've learned.” Spike snapped, balling up a fist. “I've learned plenty!” He threw a hard punch at my face, twisting in my loosening grip. Landing on his feet, within seconds he vaulted off the man's shoulders up onto the rooftop.

“Spike!” I scrambled, snatching up the bags as I attempted to follow along the ground level. “Come back!”

By the time I reached the end of the block all I caught in the fading daylight was the flash of the sole of one sneaker as it vanished over the edge of another rooftop. He'd jumped from roof to roof. That kid was agile!

I had no hope of catching him in these twisted alleys below.

In a heartbeat I'd lost him to the wretched streets.

What had I done?


	12. Session 12

_**~SPIKE~** _

Days had passed and yet his accusation still echoed through my mind. Even though the slap had long since faded from my cheek, I still felt the plaguing sting. Deep, far deeper than the skin.

I had been so foolish! I had dared to trust someone— _again_. Dared to believe that he actually cared. Let my damn guard down, now I paid the price. A man like him, not from this dump … I should have known he'd never understand. I couldn't _just_ stop stealing. Sometimes I wasn't even aware I was doing it. It had been the line that meant my survival for half my life. Years of this had turned into habit. A reflex.

My hands flexed, dripping from the downpour. God, days of this bullshit broken climate center! **Again!** When the fuck were they going to fix it? Clothes sopping wet offered me no warmth in the night cast chill, I was soaked to the bone. I sniffled to no avail. The horizon starting to pitch. Shutting my eyes tight did nothing to alter it.

Each breath ghosted the air. Dimly I realized I was only breathing with my mouth open. If I shut it, I couldn't inhale. That wasn't just the rain running down from my face, my nose dripped like a leaking faucet. I touched my forehead trying to brush the matted hair out of the way. Instantly my head throbbed, unbearable pressure behind both eyes.

I stumbled, catching my weight against an alley wall trying to stifle the sobs. They came anyway. Tears now joined the rain in the efforts to blind me. I hung my head, fighting just to keep my balance. It felt as if I were standing on an off-kiltered board.

This wasn't good. My search for something to eat had produced nothing. I had to get to shelter, somewhere out of the rain.

I sneezed. The jostle of my head producing sparks of harsh light against the darkness, blotting out the dim outline of the alley.

Shivering, my teeth clattered making the headache worse.

No. I wasn't going to go out like this. I dragged my sleeve under my nose, snot clung to it in a long sticky string.

Shit … no! No no no! I couldn't afford to be sick. Staggering through the puddles I hugged myself tight trying to conserve what little warmth I had.

In a surge the crumbling asphalt rose up to meet me. Or maybe it was the other way … that vaguely made more sense.

My eyes opened and closed, watching the patter of the rain on the damp surface in front of me. I had to get up. I had to keep moving or the dogs would find me. Dragging myself up to my hands and knees I hung my head trying to dredge up the strength to stand all the way. But the world wouldn't stop pitching. I wanted to lie back down … my empty stomach twisted into sharp knots, a desperate reminder! I needed food, I needed shelter … my eyelids were swelling shut, the pressure building to unbearable pain.

A flash of lightning lit up the puddle showing me my gaunt reflection. A snot-nosed brat with bloodshot watering eyes. I had seen this before … that hopeless expression. Right before Deseado claimed another of its children.

A bitter sob escaped me. Because I had been an arrogant little shit … I stood at the threshold, about to forfeit my life.

_**~JET~** _

Rain pelted me in this God-forsaken crater, each breath a puff of condensation hanging in the air. There was no way the climate control center would have done this on purpose for so many days in a row. Something must have broken, or someone was sleeping at their post. I kept my head down, the rim of my drenched fedora barely offering me any protection. Hands in the pockets of my trench coat I trudged along with an ember of hope fighting for survival in my chest.

Days had passed since the last time I had seen him in his mad dash away from me. Every spare moment I spent wandering through the twisted, broken streets of this detestable rats nest hoping to catch a glimpse. But in this weather few were about. The kid was smart enough to have found somewhere. Either that or the little shit was covertly following me up on the roof tops with that agile trick of his.

A peel of thunder rumbled. Moments later a flash of lightning tried to blind me. One right atop the other. This really was misery.

Out of the corner of my eye something ruthlessly grabbed my attention. A sneaker, the stained laces flung out to the side, untied. Racing into the alley, I cried out, “Spike!”

A dark mop of hair lay over the face of a frail figure slumped against the wall. It was too dim to see much detail. I knelt down, afraid to confirm anything. There was no movement. Not even breathing. This was not what I wanted to find.

No. Please no. Don't let it be him.

As my hand trembled in the air inches from contact another bolt of lightning lashed the night. That hair was dark blond. The eyes peering through the soaked strands fogged over. There was nothing I could do to help the dead. But … it wasn't him.

I sat back on my heels, rubbing my forehead. Another dead kid. What was it with this place? How could there be so many orphaned children?

Around me was the evidence of the answer. Ruined burnt out buildings of the like Spike had taken me to … what had once been his home. This place was rife with crime. It was a wonder there was even a police precinct. They clearly weren't able to do much to stop the gang activity.

Resuming my wandering I shivered, deeply bothered. Here I was searching for one in the multitude of children left to their own fates. Where were they all now? I had scarcely seen a soul tonight. Even the dogs weren't around.

I sighed, apparently they knew better than I did.

Spike had … that boy, what I had taken for being a wise-ass was truly just a reflection of his circumstances. He hadn't been living a normal life, he'd been forced to grow up too fast. Learn, or die. _He wouldn't learn_ … why had I said that to him? I hadn't meant to chase him away. I hadn't meant to strike him—and yet I wondered, which cut him deeper? My hand or my words?

Please, Deseado, I just want a chance to make things right.

Crows burst into the air high overhead, their ruckus catching my attention. I held my fedora brim over my eyes as I gazed up. I stood at the foot of that old church the kid had showed me. My eyes narrowed. Huh, those birds were really worked into a frenzy.

From the broken window I heard it, following a rumble of thunder. A harsh shouting, “Get back here!”

I stiffened. That sounded as if it were close to the rickety belfry. The voice gruff and definitely from an adult. Well, Spike had said others claimed this place from time to time. So … someone was in there.

“Fuck off!”

My chest tightened. I _knew_ that defiant little cusser!

Without a second thought I raced up the stairs into the crumbling church. I had heard his voice. He was in here, but he wasn't alone! Staring up into the rotting rafters I had to shield my eyes from the streams of rain pouring down through the holes in the ceiling into the basement through the yawning hole in the floor—that hadn't been that large last time I was here. Without the daylight, the arches vanished into darkness. The crows screeched their displeasure. If I squinted I could see them darting around, congregating above a balcony.

Another flash of lightning set the inside of the structure briefly alight. There they were. Two figures. A burly thug in a black leather jacket covered in patches, the main one on the back a flaming skull. Above him, climbing higher toward the bell tower … Spike!

“There's nowhere left for you to go, you thieving little asshole! So give it back! Gah!” The thug suddenly took a step backward, wiping something from his face. “You spit on me! Disgusting little gutter rat! Ooo I'm gonna beat the shit out of your corpse!”

That kid had balls of solid steel!

Swiftly I raced up the staircase, taking them two at a time. I had to reach him! The thug was right, up there left nowhere to go. Spike was cornered. Rainwater washed down the ruined staircase no doubt making it slick. One misstep and it could be over.

Let that happen to the asshole chasing him!

Hold on, Spike, I'm coming.

Thundering along the flights of stairs I cleared the balcony, recalling the path Spike had shown me to reach the belfry, a hidden stairwell.

“Heh heh, one last chance before I snap your neck, kid! Where is it?”

Spike snarled back, “I told you, dickhead, I don't have it!”

“Too bad. Cause you just backed yourself against the wall.”

That terrifying statement ripped my eyes up above through a crack in the wall concealing the staircase. I was only halfway there, but the thug was right. Part of the dry-rotted stairway had collapsed above Spike, the next flight far higher than even he could reach.

Still, Spike glared at him. “Oh yeah? Shows what you know!”

To my horror I watched as Spike sprang out into the air, throwing himself feet forward against a rafter. His shoe touched it and launched him to the next one.

“No!” The thug growled, trying to grapple the kid as he shot by. Barely catching himself on the railing, he missed!

But in the next second—so did Spike.

His airborne path through the rafters aborted when he collided off-step with the next one sending him into a tumbling plummet. He cried out in shock.

“Spike!” My scream echoed through the gutted building a second before he landed with a sickening thud into a ragged pile of fabric, what I assumed must have been banners at one time. He lay crumpled on his side on the edge of the balcony, one arm hanging over.

That had been close!

Hasty footsteps pounded above. “God-damned shithead! You better not be dead before telling me what you did with it!”

I waited in the shadows, fist pumped. The second the thug came around the bend of the narrow staircase I socked him in the gut, doubling him over with a grunt. “He better not be dead for your sake!”

The thug leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, his eyes wide in shock. “Who the fuck are you?”

“ISSP.”

He cocked an eyebrow, holding up his hands. “Ehhh, ok ok pal. Look see, that kid stole something belonging to me. Alls I want is it back. Besides, since when do you guys give two shits about these little fuckers?”

I growled, fully prepared to pound the crap out of this punk. “Where do you get off beating up a kid?”

A crow cawed, darting by me, almost clipping my hat. The big one I had seen Spike trading with. Even in the dimness I knew her, was it her distinctive call?

A cracking pop echoed off to my right. The stairs rumbled. But not from directly below me. This carried from … the balcony!

The edge where Spike lay, even his meager weight was enough. The dry rotted supports groaned, the whole structure shifting. The thug scrambled, pushing past me. “Shit ain't worth dyin' for!”

My heart thundered in my ears. “Spike! Get up! You have to get out of there!”

He wasn't moving.

_Creeeeeak!_

Debris clattered into the bowels of the church, down into where the main floor had given way exposing the vast maw of the basement. If that balcony collapsed Spike would fall over two stories into a pit of splintered beams.

“Spiiiiike!” I watched in terror as the edge pitched out further. Racing gravity and the wings of the crow, fear lent me speed I didn't know I could posses. I wasn't going to make it! Diving, I slid on my knees the final distance, ripping through the knees of my pants.

The support beams cracked, dumping the pile of rotting fabrics into a free-fall—taking Spike's limp body with it. He tumbled out into midair—for a moment I glimpsed the slivers of his eyes, a brief gleam in a flash of lightning before he slipped over the edge.

“Noooo!” I flung my arm out, extending in a desperate grab. My fingers touched something warm, snatching at it in a blind hope. The weight halted in my iron grip, swinging, limp.

A pulse beat against my fingers. I had him by his wrist.

But my celebration was short lived. This edge was precarious. My shoulder strained by the added weight.

The crow dove erratically as I grunted and huffed, the angle awkward. It was hard to haul him up, even his scant weight. It didn't help that he was soaked and threatened to slip from my grip. “Hey, birdbrain! Knock it off! I'm not hurting him! I'm trying to save him!”

It did nothing to stop her frantic crisscrossed flight nor stop her panicked caws.

Inch by inch I yanked Spike back away from the edge, carrying him hastily away from the crumbling floor as more of it fell behind me. Back against the wall I had to catch my breath for a moment. Opening my eyes I stared down into my lap. Spike lay there drenched to the bone and shivering, his eyes barely open. The lids swollen, but not bruised. Despite the chill in the air, his skin was warm to the touch, too warm. His mouth hung open, gasping in each breath. I realized why as a slow stream of tinted ooze flowed from his nose. Not blood, but thick mucus.

He was a mess—but I didn't care, relieved to have found him alive. I held him up to me, chest close to my ear listening to his heartbeat, listening to each breath. Good, it wasn't in his chest. I brushed a hand against his feverish forehead, he moaned and tried to turn away. Pain in what little I could see of his bloodshot eyes. That explained his slip. This congested there was no way his equilibrium wouldn't have been shot. It was a miracle he had managed the first leap.

“You're ok. I got you now, kid.” I hugged him closer.

He sneezed, splattering my neck with the thick ooze.

I grimaced and reached up to try and wipe the snot away. Couldn't even be mad at him for that. He slumped against me, watering eyes barely open. I pulled off my trench coat and removed the mostly dry hooded sweatshirt beneath, wrapping him in it. “You need this more than me.”

Reality sunk in as he offered me no resistance. He had nothing left. The images of the other kid's fog-eyed corpse in the alley plagued me. This ill Spike wouldn't be capable of scavenging. This church had nearly been his grave.

The crow hopped forward, up onto Spike's chest. The bird stared me in the eyes, cawing loudly. I had the feeling I was being scolded.

“I'm sorry, he can't stay here any longer. I have to take him out of here. He needs someplace warm and dry to recover.”

She darted her head about, looking between us. Leaning over, she plucked a hair from Spike's head and flapped off toward the belfry.

“I promise, I'll take care of him.” Pulling my trench coat back on, I lifted Spike's bundled body and tucked him close to my chest. Curled like this he was so small, and far too warm. The fever didn't seem too severe, but it was hard to know. I was cold out here too.

“Come on, Spike-o. Let's get you to a nice warm bed.”

Lightning flashed immediately followed by thunder. This time I knew the way to the hotel.

_**~JET~** _

Damn, this kid had uncanny luck. Back in the hotel room, under better lighting I checked him over while cleaning him up in the tub, after all he'd landed hard. Apparently the pile of old banners had cushioned the blow enough to spare him anything more than a bit of bruising. He lay there, passed out from exhaustion which hardly surprised me. He didn't have an ounce of fat on him, now that I got a full look. Anything that he gained from the time spent with me had burned away, likely spent fighting the fever. And there were scars. Not just the nasty one on I had briefly glimpsed his calf, but multiple healed dog bites and knife slashes. He had survived a remarkable number of close calls.

This, I was determined, would be another one. His last one, if I had any say about it.

Now back in my old sleeveless undershirt he lay curled on his side bundled in the covers, dripping snot everywhere. The poor kid couldn't breath through his nose he was so congested. He wasn't crying, his closed eyes watered constantly. I had no doubt that he must have a powerful sinus headache from all that pressure. The good news was he was sweating from the fever, so he wasn't dehydrated, yet.

After washing and hanging his clothes up to dry, I carried over a mug of soup and coaxed him awake.

He groaned, barely able to open his swollen eyelids.

“Here, you need this kiddo.”

It was a struggle as he tried to drink and breathe at the same time. He completely lacked coordination. The fever was high, but not dangerous. The trouble was Spike had nothing left to draw from. Without reserves, what was nothing more than a rotten head cold could have easily cost him his life.

After a few gulps he was sinking back to sleep. I hated to do it, but I forced him back awake. “All of it, you need it to fight this. Then you can go back to sleep.”

He tried to wipe his eyes and caught the mucus leaking from his nose pulling a long slick string. Cross-eyed he stared at it before sneezing and making a rather astounding mess.

Heaving a sigh I didn't envy housekeeping. I waited for Spike to catch his breath before coaxing more of the soup into him. Before long, he finished it, laying back against the pillow, shivering. That soup at least was something to fuel his recovery. I touched his forehead, making sure the fever wasn't getting worse before tugging the blanket up. “Go to sleep. You'll feel better soon enough.”

Colds were miserable. I'd had a few that landed my ass in bed over my life. But I had the benefit of a home, proper food, … my parents looking after me.

Spike took a deep breath, by the time he exhaled his eyes had shut again. I doubted he would wake for some time.

I settled on the couch and tried to distract myself with an old spaghetti western. But it kept bothering me. It begged the question I would have to ask him. What had he taken from that thug?

A strange sound startled me.

I opened my eyes to the broad daylight. When had I fallen asleep … sitting up on the couch? Stiff, I rose and stretched. Again I heard it. I whimpering cry, vague snatches of words. Under the covers, Spike tossed and turned, thrashing against the tangle.

“No … Joe … please … don't! Not out … ” His voice was hoarse, thick from the congestion, but even in the weary cries I heard terror. His arm reached up. “I can't … the dogs … not the dogs!”

A dog barked on the screen. I instantly hit mute and dashed across the room.

Poor kid. He was covered in a feverish sweat, fighting with the sheets. The pillow crusted over where a mucus puddle had formed. Screaming he grabbed his arm, I spied a series of healed punctures there.

Carefully I touched his shoulder. “Spike. Spike, wake up, kid. It's a nightmare. You're ok.”

“ … I can't make it out here … the dogs … the dogs!”

His eyes were still closed, the fretting intensified. He was fighting me, spending little strength he had. This wasn't good. He didn't anything to spare on nightmares. I leaned in closer, trying to break through and reach him. “Spike, you need to wake up. You're alright. You're safe.”

Scrambling, he shoved his shoulder against the pillow as if backed against an alley wall. His panicked cries broke my heart.

“Kiddo, you have to wake up!”

He threw a punch at me. I caught his fist and held it. The panic increased, he was going to hurt himself. Wrapping my arms around him, I picked him and held him. The jostling did the trick. His eyes cracked up, dazed and confused.

Running my fingers through his sweaty hair I spoke to him softly. “You're alright. You're safe. No one is going to hurt you.”

He coughed and groaned, fighting to catch his breath. Barely coming to the surface he was already sinking back down.

“You're going to be alright, kid. That wasn't real.” … and yet, by his scars I knew it had been.

The feeble tension faded away. His eyes gradually rolled back and he lay limp in my arms, rasping out each breath through his mouth.

Settling him back down on the pillow, I tugged the blanket back up over his frail shoulder. “Go back to sleep, Spike. You really need to rest.”

I had only just gotten him situated when someone knocked on the door.

Damn it! Complaining neighbors? He hadn't been that loud.

The knocking started again.

“Hold your horses, I'm comin'. Sheesh, what's the ruckus about?” I threw back the lock and opened the door.

Rich peered at me. “Hey Loany. We been tryin' to reach yah. But you haven't answered your phone.”

I glanced over my shoulder, it was still in my trench coat pocket. Muffled it wouldn't have been enough to wake me. I shrugged. “Oh yeah, sorry. Had a late night and must've overslept.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Dressed? What were you up to?”

Before I could answer he craned his head and peered over my shoulder. His eyes widened. He pushed past me, heading for the bed.

For Spike!

I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “The kid is sleeping.”

Rich rolled his eyes to the side. “Relax, I ain't gonna hurt the little squirt, just want to talk to him down at the station.”

He wasn't a little squirt, or a shit, or an asshole! “Spike,” I corrected him, holding his shoulder a bit tighter,” is sick in bed. He needs to rest.”

The efforts to tug out of my grip failed, Rich smirked at me before holding his hands up. “Alright. Alright. I guess it can wait. Seriously, what is it with you and taking a shining to that punk?”

“What's it to you?” Fixing him with a glare I cracked a knuckle, a bruised one from punching the thug the night before.

His eyes widened for a moment as he stared at it. “Remember, you're here to work with us, satellite man.”

“Did you have something for me to do?”

He swiftly shook his head. “But uhh … keep your phone close. Never know.” He turned with a sour expression and closed the door on the way out.

I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Spike stirred, his eyes trying to open against the puffy lids. The conversation must have woken him. This time I was ready with a box of tissues. I held one out to him just in time for the powerful snot-laden sneeze.

“Fever's still given you grief, huh.”

He tried to nod before wincing, which only seemed to make it worse.

“Got a headache? Hurts behind your eyes?”

“Yeah.” Oh that was a thick reply. He tried to sniff and it only made him cough.

He didn't seem to recall waking from the nightmare, now I wondered if he even had. I wasn't going to get anything else out of him. “You're going to be alright, it's just a miserable cold. I'll heat up some more soup, ok?”

He didn't reply, but he was visibly fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Don't worry, I'll wake you up when it's ready.”

As I stood he sneezed again. Moaning as he burrowed in deeper.

I did not envy him. He looked like death warmed over—but at least he still had a pulse. I could work with that.


	13. Session 13

_**~SPIKE~** _

Oh God … am I alive? Or is this hell? I mean the real hell—not Deseado.

I didn't want to even think, my head hurt so bad. But my brain, for some reason, ignored my desperate wish imagining this might feel something like sticking my head into a vice while someone closed it all the way. I swore my skull was fracturing.

Trying to move ached and only made it worse—everywhere. Apparently I was lying down, but there was too much pressure in my eyelids to allow them to open easily to confirm that. Had I been pummeled? Maybe I was slumped against the wall in an alley?

No … I hadn't been there. I had been … something about being high up, jumping, falling … crows … the church. I had landed hard on my side. Yes, I could feel that now. My hand closed around something soft. Fabric? Beneath it was something soft. A couch? No … a mattress?

Something touched my forehead, instantly my head ached worse. I tried to turn away from the contact but there was no escape. I couldn't tell which way was up.

The contact remained, annoyingly yanking me to the surface I didn't want to reach. I cracked open my eyes as much as I could manage, a blurry slit of light invaded. One large blur leaned over me.

“Fever's still given you grief, huh.” I knew that voice …

It was that strange fool … the oblivious idiot … what was his name?

Jet? But … why … when? Was I … ? Wait … my hand tugged on the sheet. That's it, I was in that bed again. He had brought me back to the hotel room. No wonder I was so warm. But I was sweating, I could feel it dripping down my neck. Damn it, wasn't just because I was under the blankets. I was worse than earlier, much worse. Trying to follow a thread of thought was like grasping around in the dark cellar without my lighter.

He'd asked me a question … a fever? Oh yeah, that must be why I was sweating... at least that would make sense. I nodded and a second later realized my mistake as the blurs moved out of sync. I tried to burrow my head but it wouldn't listen.

“Got a headache? Hurts behind your eyes?”

Don't draw my attention to it … yes, yes! It fuckin' hurts. I want to claw my eyes out to relieve the pressure, but I can't find the damn things! How did I get so sick! Oh shit, I'm going to die.

“Yeah.” The one word lit my throat on fire. I had to get my mouth to close, it was drying out. Inhaling through my nose I tried to clear it … instantly my body repaid me with a coughing fit. I hadn't thought it could get worse until my brain sloshed around in my skull! Oh for pity's sake! **Now** I wanted to die.

It didn't end soon enough. That little bit of involuntary exertion took everything I had. My eyes were rolling back. I couldn't move if I wanted to. And frankly—I didn't want to.

Jet leaned in closer, keeping his voice down. “You're going to be alright, it's just a miserable cold. I'll heat up some more soup, ok?”

Soup? Food … my stomach was empty, growling like the torturous beast it was. But my eyes were shutting. Tell him yes, tell him yes! Tell him something! Move!

“Don't worry, I'll wake you up when it's ready.”

A sneeze jostled my whole body, reigniting the misery. Why was I feeling like this? The last days ran through my cramped head … oh yeah, cause you thought you could be on your own, you dumb fuck! Of course in my right mind I knew better, I'd never really been on my own. I'd always had a place to go. Joe's … sure it sucked, he was a grade A asshole, but that roof was important. As if that wasn't blatantly obvious now.

A hand reached under the back of my neck. I groaned as it drug me back to the surface. Jet spoke quietly, “You need to wake up for this, ok? I don't want you to choke.”

Just don't move m—OWWWW! Every shift of my head felt terrible, disorienting. Once more I forced my eyes open in time to see the blur of a mug, waves of steam battering against my face. They felt good. The warmth flowed down my throat, blessed relief as it soothed the dry-burning from back there. I couldn't taste a damn thing, but I could feel it. There were tiny bits of something in the broth … maybe rice and chicken? I could only guess. My body knew it needed this. Coordinating drinking and breathing was tricky, but I managed it. And Jet spaced it out enough to allow me to gasp in air. Breathing took so much effort right now, I was exhausted just trying to stay awake for this.

“Come up for air now, Kiddo. Nice and slow.”

I had no choice. I tried to reach up, but the blanket trapped my arm and I lacked the strength to move it. That attempt rolled my eyes backward.

He mopped my brow off, carefully. Almost like he knew too much pressure was torture. “Hey, hey now, stay with me, Spike. Come on, just a bit more.”

I was trying, damn it. Couldn't he see that? It was hard to function through all this snot! He was so gentle. Why? Joe would have just kicked me and told me to get my lazy ass up or it was the streets where I'd die like a dog … or become food for them. You are what you eat, right?

Wait … that didn't work … if they ate me than they'd be me … that didn't make me the dog really. I was confusing myself. That was a new trick. My eyes were shutting again of their own accord.

Something squeezed my nose, the sound rather like something unpleasant getting squirted out of a tube. I opened my eyes to see Jet's blur and something bright white below my eyes.

“Ok, pard, give it a good blow.”

Did he think I had it in me?

“Come on, close your mouth and exhale hard. Need to get that crap out of you.”

Uh huh … from what I could tell that stuff was coming out no matter what I did. I really didn't have the strength to— “ACHOO! Uuuuggggghhhh … ”

He laughed softly, “Well, I suppose that works too.” He mopped up the mess with more than one tissue. “Now, get some rest. I'll give you some more soup in a few hours, ok?”

I sniffled, not that it did any good. All of that and my airway was still blocked. Why was he doing this? I had run off … I had …

… the church.

I had barely scraped enough to climb out of Nail's reach, the thug had me. I'd scrambled to get out of the way. A move I'd been able to do a hundred times before. But my balance had gone to hell. I'd slipped, the wind knocked out of me. That was it, all I'd had. The ground shifted, I was falling … but someone had grabbed me. My eyes glimpsed him, even in the dim light—in the flash of lightning I saw him clear enough to know. He'd come for me.

Why?

I was only a thief.

_**~JET~** _

Hours ticked by, the shadows shifting across the floor even as the never-ending rain pelted the windows. Spike hadn't so much as stirred since the last I had woken him. The poor kid sounded terrible. His voice raw from a dry throat as he muttered snatches of words, his lips had even cracked. But still the oozing continued, a never ending source.

It didn't look like anything serious, the color mostly clear. So he seemed more in need of regular visits from Dr. Chicken Soup than an actual doctor. Not that I even knew where the hospital was if he needed one. Certainly I could find out if I asked at the station. But only if he got worse.

So far things had leveled off. For the moment he needed to tough this out. I had no doubt he probably felt like shit. Honestly he looked miserable.

But at least he wasn't lying alone in that church.

Here I could force food into him. Soon now. I would let him rest for another hour.

My phone rang. I glanced at it, the local precinct. Hitting the button, I answered, “Jet Black here.”

“ _Hey! Loany!”_ Rich answered. _“Need you to come down to the station for a bit. We got a development in the case.”_

I glanced over my shoulder at Spike. This was not a good time. “Are you sure?”

“ _Uhh yeah. Chief's orders. This really can't wait. So if you can just come on down.”_

“I really should stay here at the moment.”

“ _Thing is, you seem to be forgetting who you're working for. You got a duty. Now get in here!”_

The line went dead. I hung up and rammed the phone into my pocket. Shit! What was I going to do? I couldn't bring Spike with me. Not as he was. He needed to stay in bed, warm and resting. Not out in the cold rain. More exposure for him could result in this turning to pneumonia. He sure as hell didn't have the stamina for that fight if he was struggling with just a sinus cold. 

No, I had to leave him here. I grabbed my holstered gun and strapped it on before putting my jacket on. The last bit, my trench coat and fedora. 

The moment I brushed my fingers through Spike's clammy hair his eyes cracked open. “Hey, I need to go down to the station for a bit. I didn't want you to worry where I was. You need anything before I go?”

“No … ” he croaked. 

I forced a smile. “You stay in bed and sleep. I'll try to make this short, ok?”

As I stood I watched him stir a bit as if trying to get comfortable. Closing the door behind me and walking out into the storm a horrid revelation nagged me. Damn it, the icy fingers went down my spine, if I hadn't found him there's no way he would have survived last night.

By the time I reached the station and walked through the rows and rows of desks with cops shoveling snacks in their mouths I was sick to my stomach. Something smelled rotten, and it wasn't sour cream and onion chips! I tromped up to the desks to find Rich leaning back with his feet propped up. I cleared my throat.

He glanced up. “Oh hey, glad you came down here.”

“You said there was a development?”

“Mmm hmm. We uhh we ran the prints on that gun you brought in and it turns out we've seen those before.” Rich dropped his feet to the floor and leaned over his computer keyboard, typing a good amount onto the screen. “Shit, where did it go now? … ”

“So, you know who the guys are who tried to jump us?”

He lifted an eyebrow, still searching. “The guys who jumped _you_ . And that's a yes and a no. Said we've seen the prints, but the guy doesn't have an arrest record. So we don't know who these mules are yet. Still, it's a print. Something about a prior unsolved B and E. So the guy's been around.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Damn it, I was down here for him to yammer on about this? 

“Dodge got the results on that case you brought us too.” He whistled. “Premium grade shit! So, that really was a good intercept. All we need now is to find out how they're getting it into the crater and trace it back to the source. I mean, we can't have this stuff coming in here. Hrm, where the heck did that go now? I know I just had it here when I called you. But, heh heh, you know how busy things can get.”

I glanced around the room. Funny, aside from eating the officers were discussing more cases of microbrews sampled at a local bar the other night verses actual cases. Some detectives!

But, I had to remind myself, I wasn't one. I took a deep breath. I'm just a beat cop on loan from Ganymede. 

“Ohhh, here it is! Haha, ok, see here's the print we found.” He pointed to the scan on the screen. “But uhh, not that one.” 

In a secondary window a file popped up showing a mug shot of a much younger Spike Spiegel, several years younger in fact. I would know that ornery smirk under the most unruly mass of hair anywhere. Next to his name a long list of his pick-up dates ran down, some of them mere days apart. Apparently he hadn't been fully charged. Mostly B and E's, petty theft, but I noted a couple assaults—one involving an officer! What was this about biting?

The screen closed before I could read any details. Rich snorted, “Yeah, we don't care about  **that** piece of shit … ”

The image lingered in my mind, the kid locked up in the holding pen among the riffraff of this crater even for just one night. I shuddered.

“This is the real prints on the gun. And yeah, that piece got hocked to a pawn shop and resold. But never transferred. So no idea who the perp is, just an unsavory thug. You said he had a scar on him?”

Like the file told me anything. It was just involving prints found from a break-in to a warehouse down on Oceanview street. I narrowed my eyes. Really? Oceanview? What jerk-off thought of naming  _anything_ after an ocean in this urban disaster? 

Rich's phone beeped. He picked it up and glanced at it, brow furrowing before dropping it face down on the desk. He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Anyway. That's what we got. Thought you should see it.”

He stared at me with a dismissive look. The more I stood there, the more I read the annoyance in his expression. 

“Uhhh, you can go now.”

What an absolute waste of time to come hoofin' it all the way here. I mean, a development would have meant something more. A lead, a clue to follow. Not just a 'we have a print with a prior but no arrest so … '

The cold air struck me as I opened the door. Why have me come down here to meet with them … 

Wait … _them_ ? 

Where was Dodge?

The message! 

If my suspicion was right I didn't have time to hesitate! I sprinted as fast as I could through the rain back toward the hotel. Oh shit, I had been so stupid! Don't let me be too late!

In the hotel's hall … the door stood cracked open. My heart beat in my ears. I slammed the door all the way open, it rebounded against the wall. Inside the whole place had been tossed. My stuff co-mingled with the hotel's supplies all over the floor.

Spike … the bed was empty. The covers thrown back and the whole thing unmade in a fury. In the kitchen all his clothes were missing. 

“No! Oh God no!” I halfway stepped back toward the door. To have to chase him down again, a daunting task … or had he been taken! Had somebody kidnapped him? 

Slow down! Think! Look!

Spike's shoes were even missing. That was odd, and didn't make sense. Why would they go through all of that? Taking him with barely a stitch on his body would make more sense. He'd be less prone to run. 

Maybe whoever it was had been looking for something else. Spike had stolen from that thug. Did they think he had brought it here? Swiftly I started to search. Whoever had intruded had certainly been thorough. But it had been hasty. Parts of the room hadn't been torn through in the same fashion. They could have missed something.

I searched through the bathroom, but everything had been flung open and pulled out. There had been nothing in the closet to begin with. So that left … 

Some of the kitchen had been trashed. However, I opened the corner cupboard in the kitchen, it hadn't been rifled through. I nearly closed it … then I spotted it—the end of a shoelace. Shoving the stuff aside I found him, wedged back as far as he could get in the shadows, the kitchen knife gripped in his hand. But his head was lulled forward, chin to his chest as his nose dripped—obvious by the moisture on his shirt it had for sometime. He was passed out.

Carefully I nudged his forearm.

He jerked awake, a bleary gaze fixed on me.

“Easy Spike! Don't stab me. It's ok. It's Jet. Let me take that from you.”

He death gripped the knife, even as his head wobbled. 

“Fine … ok, keep it. I'm just gonna pull you out of there, alright?”

Spike didn't fight me as I reached in and pried him out. I had no idea how he'd managed such a tight fit in his condition, but somehow in an act of desperation he'd done it. And clearly whoever had been here hadn't thought to search behind the narrow door.

I leaned Spike against the cupboard and heaved a sigh of relief. He seemed alright, other than being sicker than a dog. He was fully dressed gripping the knife, but struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Kid, how did you get in there?”

“Crawled.” He tried to sniffle and ended up coughing. After he caught his breath he added. “Good thing too … or I wouldn't be here.”

“Who did this?”

He took a few deep breaths. “Dodge.”

“Spike, you're delirious!”

“You're in denial.”

“I am not!” Shit, he was right. I had come to the same conclusion myself. But I didn't want to believe it. Dodge was a fellow cop! “It doesn't make sense he would try to kidnap you.”

“You're a terrible judge of character.”

“I am not!”

“I know you are … you trust the wrong people.”

“I do not!”

“You trusted me.”

My mouth hung open. I had no reply for that, and there was such shame in his tone, even for being ill. I held up my hands. “Ok, let's discuss that later. What are you doing dressed and everything? When I left you … ”

“I had a bad feeling. And I haven't survived this long by ignoring those.” He drew his knees up and rested his cheek against his arm. The knife still in his loose grip. “I got up and prepared to bolt. But realized it wasn't happening. I almost passed out just reaching this room. So I did the next best thing—hid. Ten minutes later, dick-wad picked the lock.”

“How do you know he wanted you?”

“Cause the loudmouth can't shut up. 'Rich said the little shithead was here! Where is he now?' That enough proof? If I'd still been in bed we wouldn't be talking now.”

I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Spike, you gotta tell me—what did you do?”

“Tsh, so we're back to that again.” His knuckles gripping the knife flared white.

I held up a hand. “No … that's not what I mean. Why was Dodge after you? And that guy at the church—he said you stole something.”

“Shit.” Spike grumbled, wiping the back of his other hand under his nose. “I knew that was fuckin' important.”

“What? Where did you hide it?”

“Back at the church.” Spike pushed up from the floor. A clear mistake, he'd barely made it upright when his grip on the knife dropped it in a clatter to the floor. He went limp, slumping into my arms as I caught him. Not unconscious, but he was moaning and holding his head.

“Kid, your balance is still shot. Just tell me. Where did you hide it?”

Slung over my forearm he shook his head, wincing. “You can't get to it.”

“Try me.”

He pointed back into the cupboard. “Can you fit in a crawl space that small?”

Fuck. My shoulders fell. “Do you think this is that important?”

“Nail's wanted to kill me. Dodge came searching in a short period of time after Nail's failed to get it back. So … you tell me. How and why did Dodge find out about a thug's picked pocket?”

I grunted and hefted Spike up. “Alright, let's go see what got them worked into a frenzy.”

On the walk down to the church, Spike didn't say anything. I hated how quiet he was, but I didn't dare try and start a conversation. His stamina was already seriously flagging. He must've summoned up what little the rest in bed had restored. No sense in wasting it on idle chatter. 

At the church Spike guided me toward what used to be the confessional. I set him down and he pried a loose board from the floor. Even half blind he slipped into the darkened space as easily as a rat. In a few minutes his hand appeared holding a small pocketbook. I helped him out of the hole and was about to look through it. 

His hand clamped on mine, he was shivering. “The hotel … they might come back here.”

True, the light was poor as the dusk fell. I tucked the book away and picked him up, carrying him through the darkening streets. I hated how much he winced when I accidentally jostled him. 

“When we get back to the hotel, it's back to bed for you.”

His teeth were chattering, arms locked tight around his body. “Not arguing.”

“Did you stay at the church these past nights?”

“Where else.” Defeat marked his tone. 

I should have known. I should have checked there. Some detective I turned out to be.

When I opened the door I was shocked to find that housekeeping had been here. The bed had been reassembled and everything put to right. I cringed, imagining what they would have thought had happened to make such a mess. But at least everything was clean again. 

Setting Spike on the edge of the bed I handed him the undershirt. “Here. You want some more soup?”

Hanging his head he minimally nodded. “Please … I … I'm sorry I'm such a pain in the ass right now. I made you go out in the rain and … ” A sneeze stole anything else he intended to say.

“It's ok, kiddo. Let's get some more food into you followed by a long nap.” I left him, taking the time to heat up the chicken and rice soup. While I waited for the soup to heat up a bottle sitting on the counter caught my attention, whiskey … and several of whiskey's friends. Hrm, well, the kid whined about me not letting him drink. I mixed something else up and brought it along. 

He was about to either forgive me for earlier, or really hate me for what was in the glass.

By the time I came around the corner his clothes lay in a pile in the floor, he was tucked back on his side under the covers with his eyes shut. Before I had thought his reserves were gone. But from somewhere he had dredged up the energy to stay with me for that trip down to the church and back. Now—he was truly spent. 

“Spike, wake up.” 

He cracked open his eyes, weary as hell. 

Carefully I helped him with the mug of soup, not trusting his shaky coordination. 

Afterward, I held up the glass. “How about we do something to break through that shit.” Holding the glass to his lips I watched as he took a gulp.

The reaction was immediate. I doubted he could taste a damn thing—but he felt the punch! Instantly he coughed and recoiled back from my hand, gasping for air! He couldn't even speak, but he tried.

I laughed. “Thought you liked drinking. This is a pretty strong combination, but trust me. Drink it all, it'll power through that clogged head of yours. Course, you're gonna sleep like the dead.”

He gasped, “ … it … burns … ”

I held the glass up. He rolled his eyes and let me hold it there again, downing the rest of it followed by a harsh hacking. I doubted that felt good. But he would thank me later. At least I hoped.

If he had sunk down quickly before, my grandma's patented home-brewed cold medication slammed him into the pillow. In no time he was passed out. 

“Sleep tight, kiddo.” Well, at least he wouldn't feel anything for the next handful of hours.

Leaving him to rest, I sat on the couch and opened the little pocketbook. Time to see what all the fuss was about. 

Scrawled in the pages I found utter nonsense. It wasn't even words. Just letters in odd arrangements. Thumbing through, a piece of paper fluttered down and landed in my lap. I blinked.

In tiny scripted letters set in a series of pairs numerous sets ran down the page, each set divided by a line. This was all handwritten, and the penmanship did not match what was in the pocketbook. That was larger, sloppy, and loose. Ciphers. That's what this page displayed!

I grinned. Well now. One of these must be the key to cracking the pocketbook. Taking out a piece of paper and a pen I started to go through with the first code. 

Nonsense. 

The next one. 

Also utter nonsense.

I got up and made myself a quick omelette, scarfing it down as I tried a third. After all, third time is the charm, right?

Nope!

The hours ticked by, page after page of scratch paper sacrificed … dawn's light spread across the sky as at long last I stared at the sixth sheet of paper I had translated onto.

I couldn't believe my eyes!

“It's a delivery schedule! This whole damn book—where and when. And now we have it!” 

The cipher page fell from my lap, landing backside down. I picked it up. The block cut image of an angel with folded hands caught my attention. I read the typed words on the page.

“ _Hymnbook of the Blessed Angels. Property of the Feather Heart Perish. Deseado.”_ I held my breath. My gaze drifting to Spike still deep in sleep from the overabundance of alcohol I had forced into him.

Holy shit … I flipped the page over and stared at the ciphers. The page torn from one of the church's hymnals. This meant … this had to have been Spike's handwriting. The boy could not only read and write, but he'd memorized numerous gang codes by heart! 

“Well … I'll be damned.”


	14. Chapter 14

_**~JET~** _

I awoke in bed with a bit of a start. Something was wrong. Reaching out I found the other side of the bed vacant, the covers left a mess. 

How had someone gotten in here and snatched him without my hearing! Immediately I rolled to face to the door. Closed, with the chain still in place. What? Then where the … ?

The sound of the toilet flushing turned my head. I noticed a sliver of light. It was a full minute before a bleary-eyed sniffling Spike shuffled his way across the floor, his hand against the wall for balance. 

Heh, maybe I was a bit too jumpy. I sat up with relief and clicked on the light. 

He tucked his head away from the light's glare and continued the slow awkward steps. He was upright, but his balance was still shot.

“Hey, you're lookin' a better.”

Reaching the edge of the bed he dropped down onto it, catching his breath. “Oh yeah?” His voice was groggy, but at the very least he sounded less congested. 

Coming around to his side I reached up, catching his line of sight in a deliberate motion toward his forehead. 

He flinched and tried to duck away. 

“It's ok, Spike. I'm not going to hit you, just a temperature check.” 

His withdrawal halted and he held still. Though he was warmer than he should be, he wasn't as feverish now. And then I noticed it. His mouth was closed, he was breathing through one nostril. “Haha, I knew that would work.”

He blinked up at me, a bit out of focus. “What would work?”

Well now, that really had slammed him. “Never mind. Are you feeling any better?”

There was a slight delay before he lifted a shoulder in a vague shrug. He sneezed and brought his hand dragging the back of it under to collect the mess.

“Spike! Didn't anyone teach you not to do that!”

The sudden shocked cringe he failed to conceal as he looked away had the impact of a slap to my face. Too late I caught my tongue's foolishness. Grabbing a tissue I held it out to him. “That … I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry. I forgot.”

Crestfallen, he took the tissue from me, but his eyes wouldn't rise from the floor as he mopped up the mess. “Not the first time, won't be the last.”

“It's just that I'm not used to any of this.”

He pitched the soiled tissue into the overflowing basket by the bedside and shook his head very slowly. “Yeah well … it's cause you haven't had to think about it. You're not used to the short end of the stick.”

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “I guess life's just not fair.”

Spike looked me square in the eyes. “Whatever gave you the delusion it was in the first place?”

Damn, that was conviction if I'd ever heard it. Before I could answer his stomach voiced its opinion. I seized the offered distraction. “You hungry for something solid?”

His arms tried to shamefully shield his belly, but it was too late. “I could eat,” he muttered.

I pushed up from the bed and padded toward the stove. “Ok, this will take a bit. Meanwhile, stay bundled up nice and warm.”

I expected an argument, but while the butter melted in the pan I glanced back out to find him lying down huddled under the covers. He still looked miserable, but less so than before. As I mixed up a batch of pancakes and cooked them on the small stove I heard him blowing his nose every so often, coughing a bit afterward. Eyeing the glass surrounded by the alcohol bottles I made up my mind. After a good meal I would offer him another round. He needed something to punch through all that and help him get some more sound sleep. That would do it.

Pouring a generous amount of syrup on the stacks I carried them out toward the coffee table and went back to fetch him a large glass of juice. He eyed me as I came back around the corner. “No syrup in bed,” we'd left housekeeping with enough of a mess, I gestured to him, “but you can drag the blanket over here.” 

Without remark he stood up and shuffled across the room, wrapped in the blanket and dragging the remaining length behind him. He plunked down next to me and after a steadying moment reached out for the juice. He moved slowly, but I was less concerned about his coordination now than earlier. He was managing on his own.

After he finished the first pancake, minus his usual ravenous face stuffing, I asked him between bites, “Good?”

“Mmm hmm.” There wasn't much vigor to his reply, but he was still upright in his blanket cocoon. That was a good start.

I had finished long before him, but still I waited patiently. He needed these calories desperately, especially after fetching the pocketbook from the church. As soon as he polished the last bit off the plate I offered to take it to the kitchen. 

On my way back I opened a drawer and removed the pocketbook from the underside. Padding around the corner I dropped it on the coffee table. 

Instantly he retreated into the blanket as if it would protect him. “About that … I can exp—”

“Not what I'm interested in.” I tugged out the pages of my own writing and the code list and held them out to him.

His bloodshot eyes stared at the small amount I had managed to tease out of it. His hands emerged from the cocoon, grasping them and paging through. “Shit … so … that  **was** what I thought!”

I grinned at him, sitting down so he wouldn't have to look up, although at the moment he was still engrossed in the short segment I had decoded. “I can see why that thug wanted this back so badly.”

Still distracted, Spike shook his head. “It didn't belong to Nails in the first place.”

“Nails?”

“Yeah.”

“Colorful name. What, did he wear nail polish or something?” I tried to make light of it.

Something Spike totally missed as he remarked coldly, “Not those kind of nails, the ones you drive into things to hold them into place.”

My eyebrow shot up. Something about his matter-of-fact tone didn't sit well. “Tch! Hold things? As in … people?”

“Parts of them. Heh, yeah this gives both dates and locations, course these ones are already done. Which page was this?”

It took a moment for me to shake off the grim tidbit he had just revealed. “Just the first one. I'd been up all night by the time I got the code that worked.” Flicking the torn page I eyed him. “Fess up, did you write this?”

He snorted, reached over and grabbed a tissue to clean up the mess before continuing. “Nah, it was the angel.” Plucking out the page he turned it around and pointed at the woodcut print with a wink.

I glared at him, which had no effect. “You can read and write!”

“That surprises you?”

It shamed me, but … “Yeah, it does. If my math is correct you weren't old enough to have been taught by your parents. How did you learn?”

“Perceptive.” He shrugged, shifting the blanket enough it fell off his shoulder. Swiftly he tugged it back into place. “It's really just part of surviving.”

“Reading and writing? How?”

He reached forward and snatched the pocketbook off the table and started paging through it, skimming. “Joe made me fetch the bottles from the cellar to refill the bar. I learned to recognize the letters on the labels so he wouldn't beat my ass for bringing the wrong ones up. There's a difference between Bulleit and Jack Daniels, even though they're both whiskey. The task was much easier when I could make a list of the stuff.”

That's why it was so small and tidy. He'd learned by copying the texts of the bottles. “You taught yourself?”

“Joe sure as fuck didn't. Honestly don't think he knew I was able to, which is why he left all sorts of stuff laying around in my view. Only thing he cared about was I could count cards. **That** math he did teach me.”

“The codes?”

“The ciphers I picked up over time. People always overlooked me cause I was just a _dumb kid_. Guys traded info in the midst of a card game, they'd flash the sheet, I'd just pick their pockets when they weren't looking. Before long I'd pinched dozens of them from assorted gangs.”

“Committed to memory?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Most of them aren't too tricky. Turns out this code was one of the simpler ones. If I'd had more time I would have gotten it sorted out. But by the time I'd written out the cheat sheet I heard Nails enter the church. I had to stash and dash.”

I took a deep breath. Shortly after that I had found him. If not for the ruckus I might have passed by. “How did you get it in the first place?”

Spike closed his eyes, and sighed. His disappointment that we were there again clearly visible.

“Kid, I'm not upset about this. You might have snatched the key to unlocking all of this. Please, just tell me the truth.”

He burrowed deeper into the blanket, shivering. “It had been some rough nights, and yeah, I wasn't feeling well, so I was trying to find something to eat. I happened to be in an alley digging through a trashcan when I heard someone coming my way. I hid and the next thing I knew, Nails chased the guy who tried to hold us up against the wall. The one with the scar? Well, they got into quite the fist fight as a result and in the midst of it that fell out of the thug's pocket. Nail's saw it and was about to grab it. I dashed out of cover and snatched it, only just managing to get up to a rooftop. I lost him for good, but when I got back to the church I collapsed for like a day or so. I dunno, when I woke up I realized I needed the ciphers. Unfortunately, I hadn't been as careful as I usually was, someone had seen me enter the church and snitched. That's how Nail's knew. It was bad timing, I didn't have enough to scrap with him. But you know that, I mean, since you found me.” 

I rubbed my chin. “This belonged to the thug, the drug mule.”

“Yup. Funny how Dodge found out it had been taken from Nails so soon after you got me back. Given how few knew about its existence.” Spike's eyes, even through his illness, betrayed his utter lack of surprise. 

My fist tightened. “You think Nails told them you had nicked it.”

“I'd go _all in_ on a bet.” Beneath the blanket, his arms crossed, I could tell. 

Damn, it all lined up. Unless they'd arrested Nails and gotten that through an interrogation. Still, something told me that wasn't where that information came from. Rubbing the bridge of my nose I muttered, “Supposing that was the case, where does that put Nails?”

Spike leaned forward and grabbed a sheet of scratch paper. I watched as a series of charts started to form looking almost like family trees. He dropped the pencil and retreated back into the blanket cocoon. 

The more I stared at them, the more I teased out what I was looking at. The point driven home when I spied at the top of one  _Red Dragon_ . “Spike … these are … don't tell me this is the distribution chains?”

“More or less.” He nodded. “I can't say it's completely accurate. Some of those are my assumptions from shit talk around the pool table. But then again, a lot of morons don't pay attention to what they let slip. So it might be dead on. But the fact is there are several factions trying to call Deseado their turf. Been fighting over it for ages, which is why this place is falling to bits. Nails is associated with the Hell Tribe, follow them up and they answer to … ”

I read where he pointed, Red Dragon. Shit. This wasn't good. They were bad news!

“Lately there's been others trying to wander into the territory. So that means that the mules who tried to flip their stash twice report to one of these other three factions, unless they're just Red Dragon pee ons trying to moonlight.”

No wonder this was a wreck. If Spike was right, four syndicates intersected here trying to turn this place into their private way station. And we'd somehow stumbled into the clash of at least two.

With a loud yawn, Spike rubbed his eyes. Not really a surprise he was wearing out.

“This pocketbook is the key.” I set my finger on it. “If we can find the next delivery, then we can intercept it.”

There was that cheeky grin at me. “You're learning. At least you're not turning it over to the cops. That probably would've been the last thing you did.”

I hated to admit it, but I suspected he might be right. For now I wasn't going to let anyone know about this. “Here's what we're going to do. You're gonna go back to bed and kick this cold in the ass, I'll mix another glass for you.” 

Spike slid a glance toward the kitchen, the expression hard to gauge. That might have been disgust, it certainly wasn't excitement. Maybe he  **did** remember what happened.

“Meanwhile I'm gonna dig through this and find our next date for interception.”

“Why is it important to you I get better?”

I winked. “Cause, I'm gonna need you to watch my six.”

He blinked as I held out a hand and helped him up. 

“Go, settle in.”

“Jet, that stuff … you said it was your grandma's recipe?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, she was a real sadistic bitch.”

I laughed. “And you never even met her.”


	15. Session 15

_**~JET~** _

I opened the hotel room door with a cigarette hanging from my mouth and a beer bottle in my other hand. Rich and Dodge filled the doorway instantly craning their heads to glance inside. The lights were off, a sci-fi action flick I'd been watching blaring on the screen, murderous screams filled the air as the aliens closed in on their space station stranded victims. I was missing the best damn part and I hoped my expression conveyed it.

“What do you two want?” I pointed over my shoulder. “Someone griping about the noise? I can turn it down. No need to call the cops, they could have just asked.”

Rich failed to hide the rubber necking. “Ehhh uhhh, no. That's not why we're here. We need an update on … ”

Dodge was worse, his palm roughly shoved me aside, eyes locked on the rumpled bedding. He yanked the covers off to find nothing. “Where is that little shit?”

Shock flashed on Rich's face. Clearly there was supposed to be subtlety. None-the-less Dodge intruded on the hotel room and searched it aggressively with his eyes.

I pulled the cigarette from my mouth and shrugged. “Ran off with some of my stuff. If you ask me, that was the last time. I see that punk again, I'm gonna fill his corpse so full of lead he'll bleed bullets. You guys were right. I invited trouble when I messed with the kid.”

Rich scoffed, pointing at the bed. “You said he was sick, and I saw him here!”

“Yeah, well, guess he's a damn good faker.”

Staring me down, Dodge barked, “What did he take from you?”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Raided my wallet, rifled through the kitchen—tossed the whole place in the process. So he nabbed some cash and food. That's the thanks I get … hey, what are you doing?”

Dodge pressed further into the room, opening the bathroom. I watched as in the mirror reflection he ripped the shower curtain back. His anger only growing as he found nothing.

I sighed. “Tellin' yah, the kid split without so much as a fuck you. What's the deal? He kill someone or something?”

Still standing by the door, Rich's twitching fingers strayed toward the gun on his belt beneath his jacket. But he wasn't looking at me or the room—his eyes were roving out toward what would be down the hall.

Pushing past me, Dodge growled, “No, not that we know of.”

And yet this strange visit out of the blue … heh. I scratched my beard. “You know, I'd like to get out of this place and go back home to Ganymede. Any word on when that's gonna happen?”

“Not now. Word is something's going down. We might need you to run point soon.” Dodge grabbed Rich by the arm. “Come on, let's go.”

The door slammed behind them, followed by footsteps down the hall.

“Aaaaaaaaachhooo!”

I rolled my eyes toward the bed, or rather under it. Tugging the edge of the blanket up, I spied his eye shine. “You're lucky that didn't happen with them in here.” I'd been amazed at how quickly the kid had vanished from sight at the vaguely anticipated knock, he'd been fully dressed and seated on the couch beside me as I stood up. Before I had closed the distance to the door he had vanished.

With a bit of grunting he crawled out of the tight space. “Huh, I held it as long as I could.” He grabbed and tissue and blew his nose. After another full night's sleep he was better but still a touch under the weather.

“Good thing they fell for my story.”

“Not hard to fool halfwits.” He snorted.

“Sorry to throw you under the bus.”

“Heh, used to it … granted, not used to it being done in my favor. But I'd say this showed their hand. They know about the book.”

“Maybe but … ”

A shout outside stole our attention.

Carefully, Spike tugged the curtain back, the dark room hiding our presence. Three stories down in the street Dodge held someone up against a lamppost as Rich brandished his gun. Holding our breaths I could just make out the words. Dang, they were loud mouths.

“You slimy lying bastard! I'm beginning to think you didn't have it to begin with.”

“I did! I'm tellin' yah, that street brat swiped it from me just as I got it off the mule. Lay offa me, you fuckin' pigs!” I knew that voice, that was the guy Spike called Nails.

“You know we can just haul you off to jail.” Rich grinned.

“Or beat your ass black and blue right here in the street.” Dodge shook him. “No one would know!”

“You promised me—” A blow to his jaw shut him up instantly.

I reached up sympathetically and rubbed my own jaw. Beside me, Spike didn't so much as flinch. Damn, what had this kid witnessed before.

“And you failed to deliver!” Releasing Nails, Dodge let his body crumple down against the lamppost. “Useless piece of shit. You better track that kid down and bring the book to us.”

Rich pressed the gun against Nail's temple. “Or else you'll learn what happens when you piss off the local heat, bottom feeder.”

“Won't be a long lesson.” Dodge scoffed. “Not much brain to penetrate in that skull.”

Nails lifted his head. “The kid's probably dog food by now.”

“Then you find the dog that ate him and get that book back!” Rich shoved him aside. The pair stalked off into the darkness. Slowly, staggering a bit, Nails climbed to his feet and wandered off in a different direction.

I swallowed as we both backed away from the window. “Damn Spike, good thing you aren't out there for them to find.”

“Yeah.” Looking over his shoulder at me the relief lingered in his eyes before it was replaced by determination. “So the question is, what are we going to do?”

“Well for one thing, you're staying out of sight.”

The glare that earned me.

“Not that you can't handle yourself, they just clearly mean business. We need more evidence. I can't just tell the local chief … or even mine for that matter. They'd never let this stick with so little proof.”

“That whole issue of the badge means a good guy.” He offered me a scowl.

“I guess so.” I pressed my finger against the book concealed in his vest's inner pocket. “Well, we know we have a few days before the next delivery. That should be enough time for you to finish kicking this cold.”

He leaned against the wall, his eyes strayed to my holstered gun hanging up with my tench coat. “Why's that so important? I mean, without a gun how am I supposed to back you up?”

I ruffled his hair, to his marked displeasure. “You're a smart kid. You'll figure it out. Now, do you know the warehouse that entry referenced?”

“Sure do.” He followed me to the kitchen as I started a stir fry for our dinner. Leaning on the counter he watched me cutting up some beef strips and vegetables. “It's to the northwest of here, near the crater's edge. The place used to have a lab, you can tell by the equipment still there. Shelves with glassware, some old rusty machines and shit. Even found an old fridge there.”

“Anything good to eat in there?” I tossed some of the cuttings into the oiled pan, it started to sizzle.

Distractedly, Spike replied, “Don't think you'd want to eat anything in there. The thing broke down, wasn't working.”

“So everything was rotten, huh.”

“Mmm hmm. All those brains smelled really bad.”

In mid stirring of the meat and vegetables I froze, eyes widening. “Brains? As in … human brains?”

He shrugged, his eyes half lidded as usual. “Probably. Looked to be close to the right size. But they were brains alright. And some eyeballs too. Now those were human for sure.”

I would never get over how casually he talked about stuff like this.

Clearing my throat it took me a moment to ask, “So, some kind of covert operation?”

“Oh yeah. I mean, I never saw anyone _working_ at the place. By the time I found it the building had been abandoned for a couple years. But now it seems to be a place for the mules to hand off their deliveries. It's out of the way enough and hard to get to, so folk don't wander that way without a purpose.”

“Why were _you_ there?” I side-eyed him.

“I was scrounging for food at first. After that, well, sometimes I got bored and followed from the rooftops, seeing what I could learn. Oh, that reminds me, you can climb, right?”

“Of course I can.” I flexed my muscles. Now, I wouldn't be able to do what Spike could, bouncing from foothold to foothold. I had a bit more mass to me. But, the fact that the kid knew the building was a blessing. We actually had a chance of finding a place to stake out.

“Good, then we should be able to get in, no problem. The doors are chained and locked, so the ways in are crawling through windows on the upper floor.”

He held out the plates as I dished up our food. It seemed refreshing to see him steadier on his feet now. Now when he ate it was with a healthy appetite, not the scarfing habit I had first witnessed. He savored his meals.

Seated on the couch we ate with little discussion watching alien spawn bursting out of the guts of spacemen, probably not the best mealtime entertainment. Spike laughed at the old special effects. But the minute the scene switched to outside the space station, his eyes widened. Instantly it captivated him. An endless star field wrapped in ribbons of color.

Setting my fork down, I leaned forward. “Never seen any 'aliens' like that, but they got this part pretty close to accurate.”

“What part?”

“Being out in space.”

“How would you know?” He glanced at me before grabbing a mouthful of the stir fry.

I smiled. “I'm from Ganymede. It's a moon around Jupiter.”

The fork dropped with a clang. I had mentioned it before, but I doubted it had sunk in. “People really fly in space?” He thrust a finger at the screen. “Just like that?”

“Similar enough, yeah. I got here in a spaceship.”

“Whoa, neat!” Suddenly he bowed his head, the heat rising to his cheeks. “I mean, I saw ships flying and all that … but I didn't know they went _that_ high! I'm not stupid.”

“Nobody said you were, Spike.” I offered him a smile. “Now, how does that taste?”

Food always seemed to overcome his awkwardness. “Great. I mean, I can actually taste stuff again. This is really good.”

I chuckled. Now, I just had to keep him from being found for a few more days. Then, as soon as possible, I would secret him away from all this. Show him the solar system … and an ocean.


	16. Session 16

_**~JET~** _

Warehouse? If I had thought the church had been a ruin, this place was down right skeletal. Grime fogged windows, many cracked with the paint pealing from the frames, barely let in light. But that was no problem, over half the roof had collapsed leaving only part of the building somewhat safe—and I used that assessment lightly. Spike however didn't hesitate to pick his way through the twisted frames of collapsed catwalks. I hesitated to follow him, preferring to stay on solid ground where I wouldn't fall to my death, but the last thing I wanted to do was lose sight of him, especially after keeping him hidden for days on end.

This rubble strewn place was huge. And smelly! I had a feeling I knew what section of the place had the old sample storage. A foul odor that made me want to wretch threatened to preoccupy me. Since yesterday Spike had stopped sniffling, leaving his cold in the dust. Clear sinuses and yet he seemed hardly bothered by this. That boggled my mind, until I considered he'd been accustomed to digging into the trash for food.

Well, I was a full grown man if he could handle this—I could too. I squared my shoulder and took a few steps forward. A rancid wind carried it smack into my face, instantly my stomach launched into full rebellion. My hand caught on the railing keeping me from pitching forward.

A fair distance ahead of me, Spike glanced over his shoulder and cocked his head. He scampered back. “Wow, you're awfully green. Don't tell me you're sick now.”

I swallowed against the acid burn. “No, I'm fine … it's just … ”

“Hey, those brains are right over there, at least what's left of them. Wanna see?”

Rapidly I shook my head and waved my hands. “Just take us to the drop off point.

He seemed a touch disappointed, but without another word he picked his way through to an overhang covered in shadow and pointed. “Right down there in the small room.”

Following his gesture I glimpsed the open door to the ramshackle office. We were early, as had been the plan. No one was here. Which meant we had time to get into position. Still it seemed a bit too long of a wait now that I thought about it. “Spike, you think you can get into position without them seeing or hearing you?”

I had never seen a mixture of boredom and disgust in one shot, his eyes spoke as if to say, _I can't believe you just asked me that._

“Right, right.” I waved my hands. “Forget I even asked. All I meant was, we might as well pass the time.” I pulled out a deck of cards. “You know any card games?”

I shouldn't have asked. Had we been playing for money the kid would have cleaned me out completely. Too late I recalled there had been card tables in the joint, so likely he'd been taught how to run the table. Here we had no table, just the edge of a rusted step we leaned against.

Spike finished shuffling the cards and was about to lay out a fresh poker hand for each of us when we heard grit grinding against the concrete below. Instantly he handed me the cards and before I could turn my head he had vanished—with hardly a sound. I pulled back into the protection of the shadows, watching as the two thugs who had jumped us before emerged into a shaft of light.

“Hey Rat,” the man with prosthetic fist shot him a glare, “you better have remembered this right or the boss'll—”

“Shut your trap, Hammer! Unless you got a solution to offer.” The scarred man spat back. “I know how bad this is. You think I wanna ask for a new copy of the book?”

“Heh, he'll rip you a new one.”

“No shit. S'why I haven't told him what happened. Keep hoping I'll find that shitty little brat that nicked it.”

“He ain't in the church. Nothing but a bunch of old crows in there.” Hammer grinned. “Bunch of feather brains. I evicted their asses.”

Something moved in the corner of my eyes. It was a feather drifting down. A black one. Slowly, I looked up to find a murder of crows roosted above me in the rafters. One swooped down and landed on my knee, locking eyes with me. Even in the dark I knew that gaze. This was the big female bird from the church. Wordlessly I tugged the brim of my hat to her. After nodding her beak toward me, she turned her gaze down at the intruders. I had never heard a crow growl before. It may not have been an actual growl, could crows growl? Well—this one pretty much did. Embers of hostility burned in her eyes.

She spread her wings and quietly swooped over to a perch above the room. One by one, hidden by the air current howling through the building the murder transferred over to join their leader.

So, I guess we're not alone here. Well, not gonna turn them away.

There I sat in the dark, backed up by a pint-sized thief and a flock of birds. What was I doing? I hadn't run this by the local department. After a full night of deliberating in my head I couldn't come up with a way to word the message that wouldn't endanger Spike. After all, how did I come to know about the drop off place and time if I didn't have the book. This was a risk, but I had to take it. If I could catch the supplier and bring them in along with the local mules—maybe the precinct would overlook this. Maybe their chief would recognize my initiative and recommend me for a promotion.

I would have clapped my hands. But that would have alerted the targets. So I did it mentally. The goal was to nail more than just the mules, but the supplier as well.

We didn't have long to wait before Rat and Hammer peered out the room as footsteps approached. A man in a suit sauntered up to them, a large case in his hands.

Rat brandished his gun. “Took your time, Tony! Now get in 'ere so we can check the merch.”

“And a good afternoon to you too.” He replied nonplussed. “I didn't realize we were in such a dreadful rush.”

Coming up to the door frame Hammer smacked his fist into his palm. “Shit is getting hot here.”

“Well what do you boys expect. We're not exactly alone here. Of course competition is getting fierce. To be expected. The goal is to win this turf. So you better find your guts soon.”

“Tsh.” Rat rammed his gun back into his waistband. “You got alota nerve yapping at us. You lot came to us asking for local gang help. This is our turf. This crater is ours.”

“Really?” Tony cocked his head. “I find that interesting considering your talk of heat. If you are in control why the whining?”

“Not whining!” Hammer's fist cracked the wall. “Just talkin', delivery boy. Now get in here!” He grabbed Tony and pulled him inside.

“Whoa, if you keep this up, I'm not going to come back.”

Carefully I slunk down the ladder from the catwalk, once on the ground floor I didn't have much coverage. This was all about timing. This lot was talkative—and distracted as I cut my way across the floor.

Up in the rafters I glimpsed the sheen of the crows' eyes. They were far quieter than the should have been. If I didn't know they were there I'd have no idea.

“Better all be here.” Rat muttered, digging into the box.

At the sight of the first vial I knew I had all I needed for the drug bust. Seizing my gun I closed the distance to the door calmly. “What do we got here?”

They all turned to me in a flash. Rat's eyes narrowed. “Hey, its that guy from Petunia's who tried to cut us out.”

“Cut you out?” I laughed. “That's some story. No idea what you're talking about. I bought it from him after you'd already hocked it. That's double dealing.”

Tony side-eyed him. “What's this?”

“Heh, just a little trick—Ehhhh!” Pulling his gun he shouted, “Don't believe this piece of shit. He don't know a thing!”

Suddenly Tony stood up straighter. “Rat, what have you been up to?”

I was tempted to let him face the music, and would have … but Hammer darted forward and grabbed the case, snatching it in one smooth move before darting out of the room. He shoved me out of the way. Off balance, I staggered to catch myself.

To my shock the crows dive bombed him, their savage beaks scraping and taking chunks of flesh as he cried out. They harried him enough that he dropped the case and tried to fend them off.

I leveled my gun and aimed, holding my breath as I waited for a crow to wing by. In the space between I fired a shot. It pelted Hammer's knee, dismantling it from the back. His leg buckled and dropped his weight into a wailing pile.

Rushing forward I cuffed Hammer, even as he cried out in agony.

From behind my back I heard it, Rat's steps crunching on the ground. “You forgot about me, Slick!”

SCRRREEEEEEEEEE—THUD!

The scream didn't even make it out of Rat's throat as an old rusted ladder released from the hold slammed down in his face. Riding the backside—a madly grinning Spike. “Heh, and _you_ forgot about me, asshole!”

Only, I'm not sure Rat heard him. The thug now lay sprawled on the floor in the room, his gun lay outside of it at Spike's feet as he smiled threateningly in at Tony. That room had one exit, that doorway was now blocked by the ladder hanging down vertically.

Hammer was harmless now as I stood up and dialed the local precinct. They answered, _“Dispatch.”_

“Hey, this is officer Jet Black. I'm gonna need a backup unit out at the abandoned warehouse in the north sector. Three suspects currently under arrest for involvement in a drug deal.”

There was a long pause before the response came. “Ooooooookkkkkaaaay? Who are …. oh! The loany from Ganymede! Never mind. Stand by. Shouldn't be more than a few.”

Leaning against the rusted ladder trapping the two, a cocksure Spike spun the gun on his finger. “You picked a bad time to deal and your buddies picked the wrong cop to ambush.”

Tony leaned back against the wall like a cornered vermin. Clearly this was a bad day for him.

“You mean the wrong team.” I corrected Spike.

For a moment he blinked at me.

BANG!

The bullet shot up toward the ceiling punching a hole in it as the force caused the gun to jump off his finger and slam into the floor. Wide-eyed, Spike stared up at the hole before rubbing the back of his neck. “Heh heh, oops?”

I palmed my face. “Spike!”

He carefully picked the gun up and handed it to me. “You uhhh … you better keep your hand on this.”

Furrowing my brow I nodded as I took it. “You think? You are lucky that didn't hit you.”

A groan interrupted us, we glanced into the room to find Rat sitting up now marked with the imprint of the ladder rungs. He rubbed his face and blinked. “Wait … what the heck is going on?”

Tony muttered, “We're busted, dude. Somehow these guys got the drop on us.”

The moment Rat spied Spike his jaw dropped. “Oh fuck, the book!”

Spike held it up. “Oh, you mean this?”

Practically pulling his hair out, Rat howled, “Son of a bitch! Shoot me now! The boss is gonna kill me!”

Spike eyed the gun in my hand and lifted a shoulder. “Well, he did ask.”

“No.” I set the gun on top of the case of drugs at my side. “Justice is important. How we carry this out is as important as the action itself.”

Lifting a brow, Spike smirked, “Which is why we concealed evidence, lied, and withheld information. Gotcha.”

I held up a finger, mouth hanging open. The kid had me there. “There was a reason for all that.”

“Absolutely. So the rules only apply when they apply.”

“No! That's not it at all. Don't put words in my mouth.”

“Don't need to. You're pretty good at doing that yourself.” He grinned, hands in his pockets leaning against the wall.

“Don't push it, pard.”

He threw his head back laughing. “Pard … that like partner in old man speak?”

I crossed my arms. “It's partner as in I'm trying to respect you, but you're behaving like a little shit again.”

“Ha!” The change took a moment. The snarky expression replaced by a shocked curiosity. “Oh.” If there was more to be said, it vanished as the crow landed on his shoulder and plunged her beak into his hair. He laughed and tried to duck out of her affectionate assault. “Nice to see you too.” Soon all manner of crows were winging around us, cawing up a storm.

Glancing back at Hammer I noted the bleeding gashes all over him. How would I explain this when backup arrived?


	17. Session 17

_**~SPIKE~** _

“Are you seriously going to eat all that?” Jet pointed at my plate as our dinners arrived.

I clapped my hands together and rubbed them with anticipation. This was his fault, after all he told me I could order whatever I wanted. And I wanted a burger with _**everything**_. What arrived was an absolute monstrosity that even the waitress seemed concerned about. I flashed a wicked grin up at her. “Which slab of beef are you staring at, sweetheart?” It was a line I'd heard in one of the movies.

She reacted differently than the chick on the screen as she slammed the bill on the table and left in a huff.

I reached forward and seized my meal … or rather I tried too. Triple patties with six different kinds of cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, onions both raw and fried, bacon all topped with four different sauces—and that was just the ingredients I recognized. My hands were about an inch too short to be able hold it. This would take some problem solving, but I wasn't about ready to give up on it. Not with how delicious this smelled. And it was piping-hot fresh!

Jet laughed and picked up a grilled cheese sandwich, dipping it in his tomato soup. “Spike, your eyes are bigger than your stomach.”

“Are not, and I'll prove it.” I carefully slid my hand under the bun and clamped my other one over the top. Successfully lifting the heavy rib-sticker stack of meat and veggies off the plate I cocked an eyebrow. “And now—the first bite!” My nose totally hit the top patty as grease streamed down my wrist. “Aaahhhh … ” My tongue flailed as I tried to wrench my jaw wider. Well, that wasn't working. I could only get like half the burger in my mouth. Alright fine, I had a choice, top or bottom? Screw it, I chomped down on the top portion and just about died. The melding of the flavors. It exploded in my mouth. I honestly wasn't even certain what every ingredient was that I had ordered. But it didn't matter. I'd never been finicky. Couldn't—not when it came to eating. “Oh my God!” Only that's not what came out around the mouthful, “omfymomb!” was probably closer.

“Kid, not with your mouth overly full. And please chew enough that you don't choke.”

I eyed him before defiantly chomping down on the next bite. It was going to take me a while to down this whole thing, but I swallowed before remarking, “Watch me, when I finish I'm gonna lick this plate clean.”

“Ok, I'll admit it, it will impress me if you can fit all that into there.” He poked my belly.

Offering him a smooth grin I chomped another mouthful. As swiftly as I swallowed I munched, leaving no time for conversation.

In time beside me, Jet used the last shred of his sandwich to wipe the bowl clean.

It took me substantially longer. Bigger meal, smaller mouth to process it. But after polishing off the burger I set to work on the fries, much to his shock.

“Don't cry to me when you get a stomach ache!”

I plucked up a fry and dragged it through a generous puddle of ketchup. “Don't worry your pretty little head. I won't.” Before I could down the fry a rather loud belch escaped me. Well, now I had more room.

He buried his face in his hands. “Smooth, Spike-o, real smooth.”

I wasn't trying to be. Just to milk it, I cocked my eyebrows.

The sound of his phone interrupted my next fry grab. I glanced sideways as he looked at it and offered me a knowing smile. The call we'd been waiting for. He answered it. “Chief Frick. Did you get anything of interest out of Tony, Rat and Hammer?”

“ _Interrogation is still sweatin' them out. That's not actually what I was calling about.”_ The reply was considerably nervous.

I dripped a fry and side-eyed Jet, he was fighting not to smile. Gee, I can't imagine why the chief who never talked to Jet before would be calling him now … perhaps he noticed something was missing from his department? I waited, expectantly.

“ _Have you seen or heard from Rich and Dodge?”_

I had to hand it to him, he managed to act surprised. “No, not for a few days. Why?”

“ _Hrm, that's unusual. No one has seen them since lunch yesterday.”_

I almost choked as inhaled ketchup went down the wrong tube, somehow I kept the noise to a minimum. Yesterday? No way!

Jet eyed me with amusement before turning back to the screen. “Huh, now that's a bit disturbing, Chief. Now that you mentioned that detail, unfortunately I might know where they are.”

“ _What? How?”_

“I'll explain everything when we meet there.”

While Jet provided the location, as swiftly as I could I lapped up the remnants on my plate and grinned. “Told ya.”

“Alright, you little smart ass. But you realize this means you own me.”

I half-hooded my eyes. “I can't believe that lame plan worked. You do realized the odds were abysmal.”

“But it did—so now you have to agree to something I ask of you.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. No counting your crooked cops until they're in the trap. It is possible those morons are passed out a bar somewhere having forgotten their own names. Huh, if they aren't, I bet they'll deeply wish they were.”

“Time to open the trap and see what we caught.”

I walked along side him, the bell on the door jingling on our way out. “Maybe we should have checked earlier. Hope there was enough ventilation in there. Do you think the chief'll be mad if they are dead?”

_**~JET~** _

I could smell the place a block from it. We'd headed to the south end of town. I may have come up with the method, but the execution had all been Spike's. We wandered deeper into the alley and my eyes began to tear. Spike padded alongside me, his fingers laced behind his head as he whistled an idle tune, showcasing how unfazed he was by this.

Shadows moved along the wall from the other direction. Soon enough flanked by several officers, the chief rounded the corner covering his nose. “Gaaaaooooofff! Why are we near the sewer?”

Spike grinned and pointed a thumb at me. “Cause he asked for the most vile place in this hell scape I could think of. And this is it.” Spike tapped his foot on the manhole cover, he'd told me the place was an overflow pit for the storm drain. Not waste water or raw sewage—but stagnate and nasty, full of runoff from the trash strewn streets.

Voices broke out from below. “Heeey! Whoever's up there—help!”

“Please! It's getting hard to breathe!”

I grinned as the chief's color drained. “Now, you tell me, what would they be doing down there?”

Crossing his arms, Spike grinned. “Unless they were following information we planted. Like, ohhh, I dunno, a certain coded message with details about a drop? A modified copy of this?” He pulled out the actual code book with a sly grin.

I held my hand up and Spike high fived me. “Fact remains, that false clue was laid out specifically to trigger an intercept. The only reason anyone would be down there right now is if they decoded the most recent drop date's info and followed it. And why would they want to do it? Because they're involved in the trade themselves. They were willing to kill for this so they could take out the competition.” I pointed to the book dangling from Spike's fingers.

Chief Frick's eyes widened at the book. “Is that … ”

Spike nodded. “Delivery schedule, Rat's dropped copy of it. Sure is.”

“How did you get your hands on it?”

“Right place, right time. Intercepted it and brought it Jet.”

Ehhh, that wasn't quite the truth. But it was possible if he hadn't been so sick at the time he might have. I nodded toward the manhole cover marveling at how Spike had set the system to trap anyone who entered into the overflow chamber. A chain dangled down from above. The heavy cover had to have crashed down. “I'm a bit amazed they didn't try to escape.”

“Oh they might have,” Spike grinned, “but I bet that old rusted ladder broke when they tried to climb it. It held me fine, but a couple of overfed donut munchers? Heh! Woulda dropped them like a stone. Shall we?”

I bent down, and with the help of another officer we pulled the lid off shining light down into the cesspit. Covered in filth, standing on the horizontal rungs of the busted ladder stood Nails, Rich, and Dodge.

Spike threw his head back and laughed at their shocked expressions that rapidly turned to anger. “Hahaha! Suckers! Looks like your drug empire dreams got swept straight down the drain. You got owned!”

Frick's eyes narrowed down into the hole. “What in the hell you boys doing with him?”

Whining, Rich pointed at Nails, “We were runnin' a sting boss. Honest! Get us outta here. It's been like over a day and we could hardly breathe!” He sounded congested.

“You're covered in shit and feedin' me bull!” The chief thrust a finger in their direction. “Dredge their asses out of there. Cuff 'em. I want them hosed off with a fire hose and left in lockup overnight. I'll deal with their sorry asses tomorrow.”

“But boss!” Dodge cried from inside the hole.

“I don't wanna hear it!”

I stepped back beside Spike. He leaned against the wall, one foot flat against it, hands in his pockets and grinning his fool head off. I caught his whisper, “Revenge is soooooweeeeettttt!”

One by one, the trio were hauled out of the pit, sopping wet and rank. The arresting officers gingerly cuffed them and began to argue heatedly over whose car would transport them to the station.

As the chief stood watching I lifted my chin. “Hey, does this mean I'm done here?”

He barely glanced my way, embers in his eyes. “You were here to help flush out the supplier. You did more than that now that these two have been exposed. Yeah, you're done. Get out of here.”

Pumping my fist I threw my head back. “Alright, time to get out of this dismal place.” Dismissed, I started to walk out of the alley with a lightness to my steps. The moment I grabbed my stuff from the room I was out of here on the first ship to Ganymede. Maybe there would be a promotion to detective if the chief put in a good word to mine. Who knew with these things?

I paused, something was wrong. Turning I discovered no living shadow directly behind me. Against the wall where I had left him, Spike stood looking away from me, positively fuming. The depth of the betrayal in his posture.

Closing the distance, I knelt down in front him, ignoring the commotion of Nails squabbling with Rich over who was at fault. Spike wouldn't look at me. “Kid … ”

He turned further away, a hot tear trembling in his eye. “I knew it—I knew you would leave the first chance you could!”

“Shut up and listen to me.” I hadn't meant to sound so stern, but he could be so stubborn. “Remember our deal? You have to do something I ask you to … ”

He shrugged away, the pain displayed in his voice, “Yeah, just say it! Stay here and rot!”

I grabbed his wrist and halted his retreat. “Come with me.”

With a jerk his head came up. Confusion in his eyes as he turned back and met my sincere gaze. “You … you mean it?”

Firmly I nodded and released his wrist. He didn't walk away. His jaw hung loose.

In a sudden explosion tears burst from his eyes and he leapt at me, landing in my arms in a clinging hug.

I stumbled backward, chuckling. It felt good, the contact … and I swore he had gained five pounds since dinner! Good lord!

He pushed off from me, scrubbing his eyes and blushing. “Stupid shoelaces, won't stay tied, made me trip.”

Sure they did. I ruffled his hair to his mild protesting.


	18. Session 18

_**~SPIKE~** _

I plastered my hands against the clear panes of glass, that I couldn't believe weren't covered in grime, my face as close as possible it pressed my hair down over the bridge of my nose. The whole dang shuttle Jet booked us a flight on rattled as it prepared to the leave the dock. My chest fluttered. We'd left Deseado by a shoddy ass taxi traveling over some covered elevated roadways through a desolate red sand plain. According to him there was no passenger port out of that crater, to leave Mars we had to go elsewhere.

Didn't surprise me. The place _was_ a death trap, why would they want anyone leaving?

Public transportation? People could buy passage to go places? That was a unique concept for me. Already just in the short pause at the space port, we'd had to hurry as we'd nearly missed our flight, I couldn't believe what I had seen. People in neat tidy clothing! Granted, Jet had made certain while I'd been sick in bed that my clothes had been thoroughly washed again. But the folks around us didn't have a thread out of place, unlike the fraying seams of my own. The contrast was obvious.

The rumbling increased and I stared at the great plumes of smoke. I couldn't believe it—we were going to fly!

“Excuse me.” A voice in the row in front of us called out to an attendant.

“Yes? Can I help you with something?”

“I'm fairly certain that mongrels are not permitted in the cabin during the flight, am I right dear? We will be here for over a day, after all.”

I glanced over my shoulder to spy a woman in a fancy light pink spotless suit eyeing me disdainfully. My jaw tightened as the attendant nervously flicked her eyes my way before taking a step backward without remarking. Why the nerve of that broad—I pushed my sleeves up.

Jet gently pushed me down into the seat. “Hey pard, you have to buckle up for the take off.”

For a moment I wondered if he had heard the rude remark, then I caught his sour expression directed at the seat in front of him. He had. A moment after buckling me in, he tugged the brim of his hat down and crossed his arms.

The woman leaned over to the man at her side. “Dear, do you smell that awful odor? Something like a wet, filthy dog.”

I took a sniff of my clothing. Dish soap. Even after our little tromp into the alley, we hadn't touched the perps. I smelled just fine.

Something rattled my seat. I looked up to see a young boy peeking over the top, grinning down at me. He waved and then dug into his overall pocket. A second later a silver wrapped flat stick fell into my lap right before two hands gripped him and tugged him back. “Now Jimmy, it's time for take off. You have to be in your seat.”

I picked up the foil wrapped treat and sniffed it. Fruit flavored gum. Heh, neat. Popping it in my mouth I chewed on it, content to have something to occupy me. After all, Jet staunchly refused to let me have my cigarettes or lighter in the ship. That went into his bags. Yeah yeah, there was a little symbol saying No Smoking. I would have done it anyway.

The whole ship shuddered as it jerked forward, the port slid by as the force sent me into the seat. I now understood the reason for the belt! We roared into the sky leaving an immense trail of smoke behind. I leaned toward the window watching the crater shrink … in the distance a darker smudge of another one resembled a bruise on the planet. It was such a small blemish—that had been my whole world.

Jet laid a hand on my shoulder. “That's Deseado.”

I snorted. Good riddance. Never wanted to see that shit hole again. I lifted my eyes toward the darkening sky. Pinpoints of light sparkled all around us as the red surface of Mars fell away. It was breathtaking. We shot toward several rings suspended in the heavens, rapidly accelerating until a tube of skimming lights encased us.

“ _Ladies and gentlemen. We have entered hyperspace. Please feel free to move about the cabin. Our trip to Ganymede will take about twenty-eight hours.”_

I unbuckled and knelt on my seat to get a better look. Jet chuckled in my ear, “The view's not gonna change, kiddo.”

“I still wanna see this. It's so cool.”

In the seat in front the woman leaned over and muttered loudly, “You'd think they'd have some standards, letting the gutter riffraff on here. I knew I should have asked for our seats to be moved to more civilized company.”

Only snoring answered her.

But I was getting annoyed, especially when I caught her glare my way. Caught, instantly she looked back toward the front as if minding her own business.

I shifted the gum around in my cheek. Stealing a glance to the side I watched Jet flagging down the attendant for a drink. He wasn't paying attention to me. With a wicked grin I plucked the gum from my mouth and stuck the wad to my thumbnail. Carefully I aimed and did a quick calculation, much like a pool shot. The young boy had climbed on the back of my seat again and now smiled down at me.

With a quick flick of my pointer finger I sent the wad over the chair and down into the center of the woman's bushy, over-styled hair as she leaned forward. The _center_ of the back of her head. A moment later, she laid her head back on a pillow.

I snickered into my hand. That was until I caught Jet's wide-eyed expression locked on me.

Was it too late for an innocent grin?

“Spike!” He mouthed, brows furrowing as he pointed to the seat in front of him.

Yes, yes it was. I shrugged while he stood and tried to sneak a glance. Clearly unable to glimpse anything without giving it all away, he sat back down heavily just as his beer arrived along with a glass of cola for me. As he handed it my way, he scowled and whispered, “That wasn't funny!”

“But it was deserved.” I sipped from the straw with a big ass grin.

He only groaned and settled back in the chair. I noted he never actually disagreed with me.

For hours I stared at the ribbons of starlight, captivated. Nearly forgot what was going on around me when a terrible shriek broke out, like an alley cat being mauled by a dog. I craned my head to glimpse the rude woman trying to get her head unstuck from the pillow. Beside her the man continued to snore away.

Jet tapped his fingers on his upper arm, hiding a glare at me. Shamelessly I finished my refilled cola and settled back in the plushy chair for a nap. At least that's what it would have looked like. Instead I relished every panicked cry of the woman as the attendants tried to free her from her just desserts. If she didn't want gum in her hair the bitch shouldn't have asked for it. After all, I hadn't whined about her stinky perfume.

It was going to be a long, rather entertaining ride.

_**~JET~** _

“Ok kiddo, we're here.” I clapped my hands together and rubbed them.

Spike wrinkled his nose and averted his eyes at our surroundings. “Uhhh, you live here? Kinda crowded, isn't it?”

“Tch!” Of course Spike wouldn't know what a shopping mall was. I ran a hand down my face. “No, we'll go to my apartment later. It's morning, we have all day. I figured it was time we do something about this.” I tugged on the frayed seam of his sleeve.

He blinked at the gesture. Then did a double take and took a step backward. His eyes snapped to the windows in the stores displaying new clothing and I saw the moment it dawned on him.

I planted a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let's get some stuff that actually fits you right.” As the worn soles of his shoes slipped on the polished floor I knew the first place we'd go. I steered him into a shoe store.

It's funny, but for a kid who hadn't had much choice he knew what he liked. No matter how many different styles the clerk brought out, Spike kept glancing at one box in the stack. I assured him he could have pretty much whatever pair he wanted that fit him properly. Somehow I thought he would want something fancy, or patterned. Leather or suede.

He picked up the box with the canvas high-tops and stared at them longingly. Unlike the pair he'd been wearing, these ones were the right size.

The clerk smiled, “You like those, huh?”

“They just … feel right,” he muttered.

“Ok, well, which color do you want?”

His eyes widened as he looked up. “They come in colors?”

Ten minutes later, Spike strode out of the store in a brand new pair of midnight blue and white canvas high-top sneakers. And this time the laces stayed tied.

Now to do something about the rest of his clothing, after all—every piece he possessed was on him and it was wearing out. Not one thing fit him right. I spied a shop with some younger style clothes in the window.

Bathed in neon store lights, a nose-pierced clerk walked up to me and blinked. “Ehhh, welcome to Sonic Boom … names Ryan, you uhhh, lookin' for something for a kid?”

Yeah, there wasn't anything in my size for certain. I glanced down and realized Spike was behind me, his eyes wandering everywhere. I gestured to him.

The moment the clerk saw him, he pointed, “Oh yeah, I got stuff in your son's size.”

That stiffened Spike immediately, but luckily Ryan totally missed it as he turned and started to walk deeper into the store, “What you looking for?”

I decided not to correct Ryan, after all, it would be harder to explain why I was buying clothes for a kid who wasn't mine. “How about some jeans and shirts. We'll need several.” And I had no idea what sizes.

Spike blinked up at me, he was about to say something when Ryan held up a pair of shredded jeans. “Hey, these look like your little dude's style.”

I bulked. “How about we do away with the shredded look. Regular, whole, un-frayed jeans.”

“'Kay, I got some, hang on.”

This time when I looked at Spike he started to grin. I ruffled his hair. “Come on, you see some shirts you like?”

I shouldn't have asked. The next thing I knew I was buried beneath a pile of shirts. Long sleeve, short sleeve, sleeveless, hooded, plain, striped, graphics … the kid was having a great time, possibly the time of his life. I lumbered into the changing room under a mountain of shirts peeking between two flung sleeves and dumped them onto the seat.

Spike bounded in carrying a denim jacket before closing the door. It took two pairs of jeans before we found his size. And since he was so skinny the regular fit looked a touch baggy on him. But they weren't too long, and they came in a couple colors. We had a stack ready to go along with a few pairs of jean shorts, too. And now in a flurry Spike dug through the shirts. I barely had a chance to see them on him. Over his head they went, a quick look in the mirror and his mind was made up. He either put it back on the hanger, or tossed it in a pile on the selected jeans. A veritable rainbow of colors. But I noted—the vast majority landing on the jeans were blue.

At last he stood in front of the mirror with a new pair of stonewashed jean shorts, a silver studded galaxy tie-dyed shirt with a dark blue sleeveless hoodie over it. Every piece fit him like it was tailored to his lanky form.

“You like that look?” I rubbed my beard.

Holding out his hands, he stared in the mirror. “Yeah.”

I reached out and snatched the tags from them. “Okay, we'll take these tags to the register and that stack.” I pointed to the pile.

He blinked. “I get those too?”

“Yeah, you thought you were gonna live in one outfit?”

The look he gave at the sad pile of stained clothing on the floor … I knew that was his impression.

“Come on, pick 'em up and let's get going. I have something else I wanted to do today since  
I don't have to report to the office today.”

Grabbing the stack he dashed to catch up to me, the old pieces hanging over his arm. At the register as Ryan rung everything up, Spike pocketed his cigarettes, lighter, and the small folding blade.

To my surprise Ryan glanced at the rags. “Hey, if you want, I can get rid of those.”

I held my breath, after all I didn't expect him to like that. To my shock, gathering them into a bundle Spike handed it over.

The moment we were out of the store, with a couple large bags in hand, I looked down at Spike and smiled. “Never again, pard. That life is over for you. Now, it's time to show you my home, Ganymede. Come on, let's go back to my car.”

_Spike rockin' his new threads. Fan artwork by Moira_Lathal_

_**~SPIKE~** _

I had to admit, the guy was slick. I never saw him sneak the board shorts into the stack of clothes at the store. But they couldn't have been his. His middle was way too thick for these—and they were perfect with a bright colorful geometric design. I'd been confused as to why he wanted me to change into them.

Hadn't I just changed?

But the moment I followed him from the car with a large towel over my shoulder around a mural painted wall my eyes nearly popped out of my head.

“Whoa … ”

Framed my the buildings stretching up everywhere, Blue as far as the eyes could see. And up in the skyline the ringed behemoth of a planet colored half the sky. That was Jupiter. The vast blue below was sparkling water shining in the sunlight. Crowds of people lounged in the sand that shifted between my bare toes, more of them were playing in the waves. This place was warm, I'd never dared to walk shirtless in Deseado.

Jet strode along wearing his own swimming trunks. He left his towel spread out on the sand and gestured for me to leave my own. Then he waded into the water.

I stood at the edge watching the waves dampen the sand and touch my toes. I curled them into the squishy texture. Cool. The most water I had seen was large potholes filled with rain. This … this was … I couldn't believe it! There were ships tied up to docks floating in it. This was deep enough to hold them.

Waist deep in the water, Jet turned and waved to me. “Come on in, Spike.”

Well, there were kids half my age splashing away and he was ok out there too … so … why wouldn't I be? I was a survivor, right? Taking a step back I inhaled deeply, then digging my foot into the sand I rushed into the water, leaving splashes behind me. Halfway to Jet my foot didn't clear the water. I tripped, pitching my body forward and went under.

“Bluurrrrgggg!”

It wasn't too deep. I recovered quickly enough to push off from the soft sand below. Sputtering and gasping the mouthful I'd gotten in my alarmed cry, I gagged. “Gah! Thath thalty!”

The moment he saw I was ok, he stopped rushing toward me and chuckled. “Yeah, the ocean is salt water. You don't want to drink it.”

“Puh! No kidding!” Something brushed against my leg, I turned with a start, “Huh? What the heck?” A white shadow drifted under the surf.

Jet came up to see what I was studying.

A creature about the size of a cat swan below the surface. White, without legs it had fins and a tail. A pinched muzzle with two huge black eyes stared up at me.

“Ahah, a Ganymede searat, that's a young one. They're harmless. Kinda cute.”

I cocked my head and the creature mimicked the behavior. Slowly it rose, nostrils and eyes breaking the surface. After a moment of staring, a plume of spray drenched me. Too late I realized the thing had blown its nose at me. “Ohhhh yeah. Adorable.” I pounced to try and catch it, but the smooth body slipped through my fingers and it was gone, to Jet's laughter.

“There's a lot of things in the water.” He laid back and his feet floated up as if the ocean had made him a bed.

That was a neat trick. One that I struggled to coordinate, only succeeding in dunking my head repeatedly. Maybe he could do it cause he was fatter. At length I gave up, there was far too much to explore here for me to be hung up on that detail.

I stuck to the shallower waves picking up shells and strange sea plants. Everything had its own salty smell and it was wonderful beneath the unhindered sunshine. The cool ocean lapped at my legs. I picked up a weird squishy thing that looked a lot like a black pickle. It rolled through my grasp, slipping back into the water with a plop. A kid nearby grabbing a ball watched my second attempt and giggled.

“That's a sea squirt. Hard buggers to hold! Careful, they spit.”

They what?

In the next second I was wiping salt water from my eyes. Was that what everything did in this place?

Suddenly a rock moved away from my foot. I blinked. That was weird. I followed it and it moved again. As I reached down the rock unfolded. Two beady eyes on stalks sprung up guarded by two large arms. It had several sets of legs on each side of the flat body. The thing was probably about the size of both of my hands.

I reached down to pick it up to get a better look.

Clamp!

“TCH!” Pain lanced up my arm as the creature closed down hard on my hand. I yelped and pulled my hand out of the water. The creature came with it, still attached! Alarmed, I thrashed my hand repeatedly at the water, the sets of legs flopping but the clamp wasn't releasing. At last I stopped thrashing and pried the damn thing off.

By then Jet had made his way over to me. “That's a crab.”

I snarled at the little thing as it tried to grab me again. Craning my arm back I flung the thing and sent it skipping across the water. “Now it's a frisbee!”

Wow—that fucker really flew!

Jet stood with his hand on his forehead staring in disbelief before releasing a breath. “Spike-o, you shouldn't do that.”

“Oh yeah?” I folded my arms and eyed him. “That crab shouldnta pinched me and hung on like a sonaofbitch. Serves him right!”

With a groan, Jet took a look at my hand.

It was fine, but crabby claw had left an imprint behind. I bent down and picked up a flat stone. That was awfully neat the way the crab skipped on the water. I wondered if I could do that again. With a flick of my wrist I counted the successful five skips. “Sweet!”

That seemed to interest Jet too. And soon we were skipping stones out into the waves trying to top one another as the seagulls swooped down thinking it was food.

The sun began to redden the horizon as we sat drying off on the towels watching the beach front slowly empty. I dug my toes into the sand and stared up at Jupiter's striped surface in the sky like some overgrown moon. This place was more than anything I had imagined. Warm, pleasant, clean … Jet stood up beside me and held out a hand. “Alright kid, it's getting late. Time to head to my apartment.”

And … I had a place to stay.


	19. Session 19

_ **Session 19** _

_**~JET~** _

When I came back from carrying our dishes to the kitchen sink I found him there crashed out on the futon. Luckily I had already pulled it out. Before dinner I had convinced him to take a shower and change into a brand new pair of sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. My apartment wasn't much. A one bedroom unit, which meant I had a problem I hadn't considered. Where Spike would sleep—which apparently he could do anywhere. But I only had a single bed, unlike the hotel's mine couldn't sleep two.

For the moment the futon would have to do. I recalled the old threadbare couch he'd been sleeping on in the pool hall. At least mine didn't have springs sticking out. It was comfortable enough, evidenced by the kid softly snoring into his own arm.

Carefully I shifted him so I could get his head onto a pillow instead of his arm and fetch the blanket trapped underneath. Covering him up I had to grin. He'd had a hell of a day, it was no wonder he was worn out.

Aside from a little mischief on the shuttle with that rude lady, he'd been rather well behaved. I hadn't discovered any un-purchased items in the bags when we got home. In the mall, his eyes said what his mouth couldn't, how great it felt to actually have choices. New clothes instead of scavenging … none of them taken off a dead body. I shuddered at that!

But the beach. My stars, the beach! Taking out my phone I brought up the photo he had no idea I had snapped of him. With his head back, his arms had thrown a great wave of sparkling water into the air. A smile of pure ecstasy plastered on his face. I'd heard him laugh for the first time. A real laugh filled to the brim with joy. In Deseado he had been so guarded, and I saw why. That place had forced him to be tough, unrelenting, and clever to survive. There he had been pest, a petty thief, a degenerate. But on that beach, Spike was nothing but a child experiencing the ocean for the first time. It unlocked an innocence in him I had feared he had lost touch with in his efforts to outrun death … I even forgave him for flinging the crab. After all, it had clamped down enough to leave a mark.

But I had the photo. Proof that Spike could earnestly smile, proof that even after all he'd been through—he was a child at heart.

I knelt down and ran a hand through his damp hair. He didn't so much as stir. “Sleep well, kiddo.”

Standing up I stretched and wandered toward my bedroom. Couldn't wait to crawl into my own bed after that long stint away from home. Everything was as I had left it, maybe a bit dustier. The life of a bachelor. Crawling in, I shut the lights off and released a breath. Tomorrow back to the old office.

The next minute my eyes snapped open, a thought struck me like a dart in a bullseye.

What was I gonna do with the kid tomorrow?

_**~SPIKE~** _

Well, this wasn't exactly what I expected. To be honest most of the time people straight up lie and try to play me. But this guy? For some insane reason … he kept his promise. I awoke in Jet's apartment, not precisely large but it was cozy. At least by my standards.

It was probably twice the size of the hotel room we'd been in. At least this place had a separate bedroom. That was small with a single bed and few pieces of furniture. By the window a tiny twisted trunked tree in a dish cast a cool silhouette. I'd never seen anything quite like that, and couldn't imagine how that had happened naturally. Other than that, there wasn't much on the walls. No pictures or other stuff to snatch.

Shit … don't steal from him, stupid! Get that out of your stubborn brain right now!

He's been so generous. I looked at the stack of brand new clothes he had bought for me, most with the tags still attached. I'd been so tired last night I didn't even remember falling asleep. I woke up on the futon under the bright sunlight cast through the window. Jet lived simply, there wasn't a lot of a color, most of it was in shades of light grays and browns. Not that I would be a good judge. I mean, I was used to the dark wood and green felt of the pool hall. In my memory I could scarcely recall what it was like to be in something considered an actual home. Joe never let me through the door to his upstairs apartment.

I wanted to explore the place, but instincts screamed at me not to blow this. I kept my hands rammed in the pockets of my sweatpants as I wandered out from the bathroom to the scent of eggs and bacon cooking. On a small table there were a couple glasses of milk and some silverware. I padded up, curious.

Jet turned from tending the pan on the stove. “Take a seat. Breakfast'll be up in a minute.”

Pulling the chair back, I sat down as he carried two plates overloaded in scrambled eggs with strips of bacon. My eyes drifted to the glass fronted cupboard with a bottle of whiskey, among other kinds of alcohol. That was what I wanted to start my day with, closer to what I was used to.

Sourly I gazed at the milk.

Jet picked his own glass up and pointed to mine. “Drink it, it'll help you grow.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Is that a short joke? You do know I'm twelve, right?”

He nearly choked on a mouthful of milk. “Nooo! That wasn't … not hardly … it's just a known fact. You know … milk and bones and stuff.”

Wow, he was easy to rile up. Almost too easy. I cocked an eyebrow at him not eager to let the food get cold. That bacon smelled like heaven. I chomped down on a crispy strip and savored it. Delicious! I humored him with a sip of the milk. Which surprised me. I stared at the glass. That was what milk was _supposed_ to taste like? It wasn't sour! I took another gulp and had to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Ok, that was pretty tasty. I could happily rotate that with a good beer.

Across the table he seemed relieved as we both made short work of the meal.

“Spike, after we finish I need you to get dressed.”

My forkful of eggs hung in the air for a moment. I was, I had pants and a shirt on. “Why, what do you have in mind for today?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Today I have to go to work.”

Oh yeah, that's right. He was a cop after all. Sure, while he was doing his job I could check out the city. That would be fun. I polished off my plate and took it to the kitchen.

The moment I grabbed the shirt from yesterday Jet shook his head. “Something else, pard. No need to wear the same stuff day in and out. It's a bit chillier today, you'll want jeans and maybe that jacket we picked up.”

I rolled my eyes as he wandered into the bedroom and shut the door. This was going to get more complicated. Fine. I had options. Riffling through the stack of shirts I found the purple one with a blue fish on it. That sucker was leaping out of the waves with a huge sharp nose and a massively large fin on the back. There were no fish in Deseado, so I had no clue what it was called, it just looked really sweet.

By the time the bedroom door opened I was dressed with my new shoes and jacket on. I liked the light washed denim, even the texture was soft. It had a few cool patches. One of them was a super nova with sparkling threads. Another was a sleek star ship racing across the back of the jacket. The whole thing was space themed. And after my flight I was a touch obsessed—not that I would tell Jet that.

He walked out of his room and I clamped a hand over my mouth trying to suppress the laughter. He was wearing a blue uniform including the typical hat perched on his head, ISSP emblazoned like a billboard. Clipped to his shoulder was a walky-com linked to the device on his belt. He had his gun holster on the other side. Overall he looked—ridiculous.

And he noticed my chuckling. Crossing his arms he lifted an eyebrow at me. “What?”

I shook my head, unable to say a word around the bubbling laughter. But then it hit me … work, he would be going to the police station. Did that mean … me too?

Grabbing his keys he waved to the door. “Come on, kid. Time to go. Now there are a few things about today. Keep your hands to yourself.”

Oh shit … yeah it did. So much for touring the city. I lit a cigarette as he locked the apartment door still yammering about protocol. Great, this was going to suck.

I hated being right. The moment we walked into the station I felt eyes on me. Ganymede's was markedly different though. At least here the building was in decent repair. A janitor mopped the floor leaving behind a clean scent as I followed right beside Jet into the packed bullpen. Other investigators dressed in suits watched as we pressed through and I noted soon we had a trail of them following and chattering rudely. I noted every turn in case I needed to bolt.

I did not like the attention we were receiving.

Deep in the station we entered a sea of blue uniforms, some with different ranks on display. I had to assume the more stripes they had the higher up they were. Those assholes carried themselves with a more inflated posture.

No one greeted Jet.

These were his co-workers, he'd been gone for a while and here they were all but ignoring his return? What the hell?

In the midst of the crowd, a full five minutes after entering the building a cop stepped into his path. “Officer Black, have a nice trip to Mars?”

Meeting the man's gaze, Jet replied back. “The case went well.”

He laughed. “Did it now? Looks like you had some extra time. Even brought back a little souvenir.”

That jerk off had the gall to look at me. My jaw tightened.

“What the hell, Black, you go to flush out a drug mule and knick yourself a kid? Where'd you find this little shit?” He approached me, eyeing me up and down. “Oh wow, that's a little punk if I've ever seen one.”

“Lay off him, Smith.” Jet stepped in the way.

That only served to aggravate me. That piece of shit hadn't even met me before and here within moments he claimed to know me.

“Whatya gonna do, hock him on the market?”

I growled, fists pumping in my pockets.

Jet eyed me and shook his head. “Take it easy, Spike. I told you, you're with me.”

“Spike?” He blurted out and elbowed another cop. They bent over chuckling. “What kind of a name is that?”

Grabbing the collar of his shirt, Jet pushed Smith back against the wall. “Lay off the kid. He's with me.”

“What man, you adopted him or something?”

Without a pause he snapped a nod. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

“Hah, his parents might.”

I'd had it with this ass, I stomped a foot. “Sure, maybe from the grave, dipshit.”

Everyone froze and stared for a long moment … a long uncomfortable moment before they turned to whisper to one another. Smith clapped Jet on the shoulder and barked out in laughter. “Aww, look who's startin' an orphanage!”

My chest tightened, but Jet's hand pressed on my chest holding me back.

“I told you the kid is with me, and that's all you need to know. Last chance to lay off, Smith.”

He drew himself up and crossed his arms. “Oh yeah? Before what?”

A voice called out from the back of the office. “Officer Black, get in here.”

He curled a lip at Smith. “Saved by the chief.” Pushing past him, he made his way to the open door, with me in tow. But I marked that man. Moreover, as I passed by him, I swiped his badge. That was a benefit to jean jacket. Lots of pockets.

Jet stood before the desk, chest out and at attention. Clearly proud of his actions.

The chief sat behind his desk with a cigar hanging out of his mouth, his suit jacket slung over the back of the chair. He had a brush of a mustache, gray invaded the dark brown. “Deseado precinct.” He grumbled as he stared at his computer screen. “Shit, I don't feel like readin' this mess. What happened, Officer Black?”

“I was sent to go undercover to flush out a drug mule and expose the ring, sir. In the process I was able to uncover a wider involvement, busting two sides.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Two sides?”

“Yes sir. There were two groups coming to a head in that crater trying to utilize it as a distribution point. It included a couple of the officers on the take from the department. Set up a sting and exposed them.”

Leaning back, the chief folded his hands over his stomach and grunted. Something about that gesture put me ill at ease.

Jet smiled and ground a fist into his palm. “Some real detective work there.” Oh … was that ambition in his eyes? Was he expecting the chief to be proud of him? That expression wasn't so easy to read, but I was fairly certain that wasn't pride.

Slowly the chief turned his gaze to me. “And what's with the boy? You know this isn't the place for daycare.”

What the heck was daycare? I narrowed my eyes, but by the tension in Jet's posture I knew not to say anything.

“I intend to find other arrangements shortly, but he was a huge help on the case, sir. I utilized his knowledge of the area and together we executed a massive breakthrough. I couldn't leave the boy there, he's an orphan and he didn't have anyone else. So I have decided to adopt him.”

The chief barely blinked.

Awkward, that was the word. I could tell Jet expected a reward, something for his service. The stretched silence continued for far too long. Slowly his stature deflated and he looked to the floor.

Puffing out a bit of smoke, the chief slid his eyes to the door. “Your assignment is the downtown beat. Dismissed”

Slowly, he turned and trudged to the door, shutting it after we left.

“Come on, kid.” His voice had no life to it. “Stay with me, ok?”

I cast one last look at the door. This was going to be a long dismal day.


	20. Session 20

_**~Spike~** _

I had to hand it to Ganymede, this place was pretty clean. Course Deseado had set that bar on the floor, so it wasn't hard to top. I had no clue why Jet was so thoroughly bummed about being assigned to downtown. As he trudged beside me I practically broke my neck as I tried to gaze up at the huge buildings. Deseado didn't have much in the way of tall buildings, maybe four stories at the most? If there had been anything taller it had crumbled into rubble. The air here was clear with a salty tang to it. But it felt nice and for once I was actually glad to be outside. I had a desire to kick a can and for some reason couldn't find one to kick. Apparently people picked up there shit around here. Heh.

People walked the streets, most of them in clean clothes and smiling their fool heads off. They walked in singles. They walked in chatting pairs. They walked … dogs? Wait … why were they walking dogs? That didn't make sense. I stared rudely as a woman opened a door and took the dog attached to a leash inside. People kept those nasty things in their homes? Why the hell would they do that? Useless hairballs with teeth. Disgusted with that concept I resumed my people watching. They walked in families … a child gripping the hands of a mother and father. My hand flexed into a fist at my side. That contented smile—it wasn't fair. I wanted to steal that kid's smile.

Oblivious, I hitched my step as I nearly greeted a light pole with my forehead. I turned that into a swing around it, like I'd planned it. Tahdah!

Jet, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the concrete, didn't notice, to my relief.

I heaved a sigh. Man he was seriously bummed. Like the night Harry bet his tab money on the pool table rail, lost it all to me and Joe made him do restroom duty after the chili eating contest. Yeah, that kind of bummed.

I cleared my throat. “Doesn't seem so bad.” That was the truth. Even just a quick scan of the crowd told me these folks were on the up and up. No one obviously shifty.

He lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “That's the thing, kid. Downtown's beat is the longest, most dull, short straw pull of the precinct. The worst that happens here is jaywalking.”

“Jaywalking?”

“Crossing the street in the middle of a block instead of in the crosswalk.” He pointed to a series of white bars painted on the street.

I paused at the corner and cocked my head. I stepped out into the painted zone. “Legal.” Then hopped to the side and smiled as I landed outside of the lines. “Illegal.”

Jet was not amused. All he did was roll an eye back my direction while walking on.

I jogged back to his side. “You're joking, that's literally a thing? You can get in trouble for just walking wrong?”

He nodded and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it.

Good, that would hit the spot. I did the same and remarked, “People in Deseado just walked wherever. Nobody gave a shit. So what do you do to folks here, put 'em in the slammer?”

“No. We write them a ticket.”

“A what?”

Tugging out a pad he flipped it open and showed it to me. “One of these. It's a fine for breaking they law. People have to come to the station and pay them.”

What an odd notion. Buying your way out of trouble—I mean legally, that kinda shit was done under the table all the time. We just called it extortion. I shrugged and watched a dog dragging a man down the street. “Jet, you get paid to just walk around all day?”

“Pretty much. This isn't a great beat to earn advancement. I don't know what I did to earn this. After that cleanup we did on Mars I thought that the chief was going to promote me to a detective.” He gestured to the peaceful city. “But here I am in limbo.”

That explained it. No wonder he had a bad case of the blues. I hopped up on a low wall and balanced across it, hands in my pockets. “I can think of worse places.”

He looked away and I thought I heard him mutter, “Sorry.” But I wasn't certain, nor was I about to ask.

Street after street we wandered, strolling past contented people. Not so much as a pickpocket … if you didn't count me. I seriously didn't even notice I'd swiped the watch until the weight shifted in my pocket.

Oops! Too late to spot where it came from, but luckily no one else seemed to notice.

Hours went by as I took in the sights. Shops, offices, cafes with amazing aromas—which reminded me, I wondered where lunch would be. The most that had happened so far was a lost tourist asking Jet directions to their hotel. I was thoroughly bored now.

We walked up to a food cart and Jet handed me a loaded hot dog. I sniffed it. Honestly, this was not something I'd had before. Sniffing it I was thrilled to smell meat. So far Jet had never served me anything gross. So I opened wide and chomped down.

Hrm, that wasn't half bad. Onions, some stringy stuff, cheese, beans, ketchup and mustard.

“Hey, you like sauerkraut?”

I answered with my mouth full. “Wuh?”

He picked up a string off his own.

I nodded, munching away. I guess I did, though that name wasn't appealing. Finished in no time, I was licking my fingers when a squad car pulled up across the street and the chief stepped out walking into the office building accompanied by officer Smith.

Jet furrowed his brow. “Probably another press conference. Sheesh. Oh well. I'm gonna go get us some drinks, stay here ok.”

The tone in his voice betrayed his annoyance. I wished there was something I could do.

The man I'd seen being dragged by his dog earlier in the day hustled across the street. His dog wandered up to a light pole and took a big old steaming dump right next to it. The moment he attempted to stoop to pick it up the dog launched back into drag mode and off he went.

I gazed at the car and a wicked smile formed. Jet was still waiting in line at the cart. Swiftly I darted across the street, the cardboard tray from my hot dog still in my hand. It took me less than ten seconds to jimmy the lock on the car door. Swiftly I grabbed the steaming pile of dog shit in the cardboard and let it fall in a massive plop into the center of the driver's seat never having touched it myself. There was a convenient trashcan nearby, I tossed the soiled cardboard. Then I fished Smith's badge from my pocket and dropped it on the floor as if it had fallen from a pocket. Relocking the door, I shut in the stinking mess in the sun's full rays and casually swaggered back across the street using the crosswalk this time.

By the time Jet returned I was innocently cloud watching. “Lemme tell ya something, Spike-o. Some days working just sucks.”

“Ehhh, don't have to tell me that.” I shrugged as I took a sip of cola. I still had calluses from my previous job. Though admittedly I did miss running balls at the table. I had to wonder if there was a hall around here somewhere I could haunt.

As we sucked the last of our cola and tossed the cups in the trash cans Jet checked in with the station. “A what? … Yeah, I'm pretty close to there. I can take care of it.” He started to walk down the street with me in tow.

Though I hesitated a touch. The chief and officer dip-Smith walked out of the building and unlocked the car door. The chief recoiled and gagged. “GAWD! What the fuck! Why is there shit in my car?” He bent closer and picked something off the floor, brandishing it with a fury. “Smith!”

“Sir … I have no idea … I didn't even know it was missing!”

The chief threw the badge at him, screaming red faced, “You left the room! Do you think this is funny?”

“No! Certainly not. I swear, it wasn't me!”

“Oh, so I suppose a dog just happened to open a locked door with the keys **you** were carrying, took a dump in the car, dropped your badge, and relocked the door before it left. You nitwit! What do you take me for!”

Grinning from ear to ear I caught up to Jet who hadn't heard a thing as he'd been getting a location. Oh good, something better than just walking around.

Three streets over near a park we stood at the base of a boulevard tree with a worried couple staring up into the branches. There, waving in the afternoon breeze was a tabby cat curled up stubbornly in the branches looking as if he had zero interest in coming down.

“Please Thomas! Come on here!” The woman cupped her hands as if the cat were on top of a twenty story building.

Thomas flicked an ear and blinked, paws tucked under his belly. I was fairly certain I spotted a feather hanging out of his mouth. Down at the base of the tree there was a splatter of bird poop. I followed the angle up to find a nest. Aha. Yeah, he was content where he was.

Poor Jet, on the other hand, scratched the back of his neck. “Uhhh, I'm not sure I can get him down from there.”

I could, but I wouldn't. Something told me he didn't get up there without a nice set of claws. Anyone who tried to interrupt his meal would get a few new scars. Not interested.

Wandering off to the park fountain I sat down and watched Jet attempting to climb the tree and snapping off the low branch in the process. Yeah, this wasn't going to work. But it was funny. Why did they want to disrupt the cat anyway? Clearly he was content. Unless they did the same thing to cats that they did to dogs. But I didn't recall anyone walking a cat on a leash.

Ehh, oh well. What did I know.

“Waaaahhhhh!” A sudden wailing on the other side of the fountain nearly deafened me.

I cringed and covered my ears. That was a young voice, and the crying continued. Getting up I wandered around the base to discover a young girl maybe half my age at most scrubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands and sobbing. My shadow cast over her as I approached. “Hey.”

She peered around one knuckle, and barely stopped for a second before crying again.

This was gonna give me a headache. I heaved a sigh. “What's wrong?”

Each word came out between a shoulder lifting sob. “I—can't—find—my—mom!”

Ahh, that explained. “Well, you're not gonna find her blinded by tears.”

She shook her head, continuing to sob for a few minutes.

I bumped her shoulder with my elbow. “Where'd you last see her?”

That was enough to interrupt the waterfall. She scrubbed her eyes a bit more, hiccuping now as she looked around the park sucking on a snot covered thumb. “Dunno.”

“Okkkaaaaayyy,” that would make this harder, “come on, she's gotta be around here somewhere.” At least I hoped. Back in the slums more than a few kids I knew had been literally left on the street by parents who didn't give a shit about them. Something told me that little miss pigtails here was not a similar case.

We walked around the fountain as I searched the crowded park for her mom. This seemed a bit silly, I had no idea what she looked like, and the girl now had her thumb plugged into her mouth. At least she was quiet as she toddled along beside me with her bloodshot eyes.

Damn it, there were families everywhere enjoying the afternoon. Fathers playing catch. Mothers helping string flowers into necklaces. Families enjoying a meal together.

Suddenly my chest felt a bit tighter. Enough so that I gripped my shirt.

“Where's my momma?” The girl tugged on my sleeve.

I snapped my head up. “I'm not sure. Do you know what she was wearing?”

“A shirt. Pants. Shoes.”

Well … _that_ was exceedingly helpful. The paths twisted and turned in the park. Kids were laughing and screaming, which meant chances of hearing anyone calling her were slim. Oh great, did I just land Jet with another kid?

Suddenly a woman broke through the park, charging our way. “Mary! Oh my God, Mary! Where did you run off to?”

“Momma!” In a flurry of stubby legs, Mary flomped into her mother's arms.

Her hands gripped the little girl, hugging her tight and smoothing her hair down. “Oh my little darling, are you alright? What happened?”

“I ok momma. Saw butterfly.” She pointed to me. “Nice boy.”

Suddenly I was awkwardly aware of the mother taking me in. I looked down and twisted the toe of my shoe against the ground. After kissing her daughter's head she came over and embraced me. I scrambled to get out of the vice-like grip. “Ahaaah … ok … what's going on … am I trouble?” I halfway expected her to scream for the cops to take me in.

But instead, with her hands on my shoulders she smiled down at me. “You're my hero for making sure nothing happened to my little Mary, she tends to get distracted and wander off. Oh thank you, young man. What is your name?”

Why was I suddenly so damn shy? “Uhhhh ummm … Spike.”

She kissed my hair. “Thank you, Spike.” Picking up her daughter she set her on her hip and chattered away as they left me standing there, shocked.

What was this feeling? Kinda warm on my cheeks.

Oh God, I was blushing!

“Yo, Spike!”

I turned at my name to find Jet walking my way, a rather large rip down his shirt sleeve.

“Heh, checking out the park? Kinda of nice isn't it. Well, I got Thomas out of the tree.”

“Looks like he wasn't thrilled about that idea.”

“You could say that.”

A voice called out, “Officer Black! Thomas went up the tree again.”

Jet's face fell into his palm.

Yup. It was gonna be a long day.

_**~SPIKE~** _

Ok, the old man was moody. There's just no other word for it. How old was he? As I stared at him washing dishes at the sink after our silent dinner, he thrust the last plate my direction, if I hadn't been ready for it with the towel I might have dropped it. I finished drying it just in time for him to take it and put it back in the cupboard.

“Shit,” he cursed just above his breath. Wandering by the couch, he didn't sit down. I would have thought his feet would be tired after the long walk today. Something bothered him.

Maybe it was the cat scratches Thomas had delivered to him on the second round of retrieve the kitty. That hadn't gone well. I had to empathize with the cat, after all I'd frequently sought higher ground in the face of police before. But still, I'd never seen an animal get quite that spitting mad before. And I had the scars to prove I'd wrestled with a few foul tempered canines.

He opened the door and left the apartment.

Huh? That was odd!

Immediately I followed after him, out into the night. I don't know if he was aware I followed. He just stalked forward with a will. My shoes were silent against the concrete as we made our way toward the docks. The gulls perched on the stationary crafts, bobbing up and down on the calm waves. It was dusk, the outlines of the ships cut black against the red evening sky. That coloring looked a bit familiar. Lights marked the presence of each of the ships. I marveled at their sizes. Some of them larger than buildings.

Why had he come here? To smoke on the dock? To watch the water? We'd gone to the beach on day one. But swimming in the dark?

Then he climbed aboard a ship.

My jaw dropped. He had a _ship_?

It was an older boat, rust stains on her dented and scraped up hull. She was wide and Jet's whole apartment probably could fit inside her at least three times over. My heart leapt as the engines on her rear told a tale. This was no simple water craft. She could fly!

He had a space ship!

I raced on board, my steps no longer stealthy. My shock had detained me long enough that he wasn't right inside. She had a huge hanger … and inside that a smaller craft with a grapple. There was an odor about her, like old oil and … I inhaled deeper … fish.

Wandering in through the hall I entered a rolled back hatch and into a large room with a bright yellow couch and chair. Metal staircases went everywhere. Up, down, left and right.

“Whoa … this bird is huge!” My voice echoed off the metal walls.

I could wander this place forever … all I could imagine was her gliding through space taking me to places unknown. Given how little of the solar system I had seen that could be anywhere.

Up drew my attention. That must be where the bridge was I had seen from the outside. I darted up, the metal stairs pinging with each of my steps. The bridge was a narrow room capping the top of the ship. A bunch of floor to ceiling windows with metal hoops stabbed by bars cut a half circle providing a view of the darkened bay, the water glistening under the dock lights. There was a table and a cockpit chair with a dark-screened computer.

I found him sitting on the floor in front of the cockpit, a photo in one hand a beer in the other.

“Man oh man, you have a ship and you didn't tell me? And not just a ship … this baby can go to space!” I walked to the windows touching the grimy thick glass. Well, she needed a bit of cleaning.

Jet glanced up at me before taking a sip of his beer.

I padded over and sat down next to him. “Why aren't you excited about this? I mean, if I had a ship I would be … oh, maybe this isn't your ship. Are you trespassing?” He'd had another beer bottle at his side. I helped myself to it, popping the top and taking a good gulp. Then I spied the photo in is hand. A young boy, probably close to my age, stood on the deck of this very ship with a fishing pole. An older man and woman stood on either side of him.

“No, the _Bebop's_ mine … at least she is now.” He sighed.

Now that I looked at the photo I saw it. That boy was him. Slowly it sank in. I looked over at him. “You're like me … ”

He blinked slowly, confused.

I pointed to the photo, taking another drink of my pilfered beer before I explained, “Your folks are gone, aren't they.”

It was his turn for a long drink. The loss displayed in his eyes before he even spoke. “Last year dad passed away. Left me this. The old girl was his pride and joy.”

Squinting at the photo I pointed to his father's rolled up sleeve where an anchor tattoo showed. “Let me guess, he was a fisherman.” Ok, so Deseado didn't have an ocean, but it was full of old men who told tall sud-soaked tales. I knew about sailing and fishing from them.

Jet cracked a hint of a smile before it faded. “Sure was. It's what he'd always hoped I'd become. But I had other ideas.” Letting his bottle sit on the metal plating he pulled the badge out of his pocket and stared forlornly at it. “I chased another dream and it's … become my nightmare.”

I nursed the beer, swirling it in the bottle. “So that's why you look like you need to talk to a bartender.”

“Huh?”

“I've been around.” I winked. Didn't mean I had the first clue what to say now. “Your dad must've been pretty cool.”

“He was … on nights like these I miss him. We used to come on here and watch the ships land in the bay. He'd tell me old fishing stories.” The smile crept on his face, it was bittersweet, but a smile. “I never imagined this old tub would be mine so soon. And what have I done with her? Left her to float here.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the cockpit. “Can she still fly?”

Distantly he nodded, draining the rest of the beer from his bottle. “But not tonight.”

We leaned back against the front of the cockpit and watched a big old trawler glide in, cutting a wake through the bay that washed against the ship rocking us gently.

I still couldn't believe it—I was sitting on the bridge of a working space ship. My gaze kept creeping toward the stars.


	21. Session 21

_ **Session 21** _

_**~SPIKE~** _

Oh joy, here we are at the precinct station—again. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. This was Jet's job, and just like it was for me to be running the tables at Joe's hall he had to report here for orders from the chief … except Jet got to keep his cash. I really should have done something about that jerk taking everything I brought in. That option had been taken from me the moment Joe's ass went to prison.

Anyway, I lingered just behind Jet with my hands in my pockets, like a _good boy_ waiting for this bullshit to be done with.

So far the morning briefing had yet to begin.

The shouting carrying through the half open door of Chief Ornery-ball's office was impressive. Wow, he was still pissed off about the other day. That was one set of powerful lungs!

“Don't you make excuses, Officer Shithead!”

Oooo, that was a good one … considering that through the crack I spied a red-faced Smith standing in front of his desk as the chief's tirade continued.

“I'm not laughing one bit about this. The car is still in the shop stinking it up. Frankly you still smell like shit yourself.”

“Sir, I drove the car back as instructed.”

“You're damn lucky I got another lift back.”

“Chief, please I'm trying to tell you, it wasn't me. When I walked out of the conference room I didn't even leave the building.”

“Then we're back to the dog picking locks! Do you think I'm that stupid?”

As he fumbled his words the other officers started to snicker. I couldn't resist the smile pulling at my lips. That was until I noticed Jet's side-eyed glare at me.

I tried to look innocent … tried. Honestly not sure how well that went. By his darkening scowl I knew I had failed. We'd be talking later.

The chief's volume rose again, “I don't want to hear excuses. I don't want to hear a thing from you aside from your shoes out on the downtown beat for the remainder of the week. Don't even report here in the bullpen—straight to the street. I'll be keeping an eye out for you.”

“But chief—”

“Out! Now!”

The smoke rolled as the door opened and Smith dashed out trying to keep his head down. The others pinched their noses and fanned the air.

Until the chief stormed to the door, stogie hanging from his mouth. “Anyone else think that prank was funny? They can join him!”

Well, I did … but I wasn't a cop. I hid my grin in a bowed head waiting for Jet to get his assignment for the day. In less than ten minutes we were out on the street headed toward the dock. The moment we were around the corner and out of observation Jet grabbed the hood on my sweatshirt. “Spiiiiiike, what do you know about what happened in there?”

Innocence was not a good look on me. I lifted my shoulders and let them fall.

“You pulled something, didn't you? Didn't you!”

I folded my arms and half-hooded my eyes. “What if I did?”

“That's my boss.”

“Which was why I made sure to frame Officer Shitface. All I had to do was drop the badge I'd pickpock—” Uhhh, that may have been too much.

Jet's jaw clenched. “Spike!”

“Tsh!” I should have said the doofus dropped it. Too late now. “I don't regret it. The jerk deserved it.”

“And if they find out you did it you could get into big trouble.”

“Way it looked only he coulda done it, or the dog.”

“Which dog?”

I winked. “The one who took the crap on the sidewalk before I picked the door lock.”

He palmed his face and growled my name. Wow, I was racking up points.

“Come on, I didn't get caught.”

“That's not the point, kiddo. This isn't Deseado, you can't do shit like that.” It took a moment, but he started to crack a smile, a slight giggle infecting him. “Although I have to admit that look on Smith's face was pretty rewarding. That jerk deserved it.”

I grinned, at last, my goal attained. A strike in his favor.

He whipped a finger toward me. “But that's no excuse to do that again! I mean it.”

“Yeah yeah, sure.” We started walking along the street, with me completely full of myself. We had a ways to go to reach the docks, but the weather was nice so I didn't mind.

“Today is a better beat. There's a chance of coming across smugglers or other situations. Promotions come from making solid arrests. A real chance of a move leading to advancement. So remember to be on your toes down there.”

I snorted. “Uh huh, like I wouldn't know what to watch out for.”

“I mean it, kid. This isn't Deseado.”

I held up a finger. “Stop and think about that for a moment.”

He did and the heat rose to his face.

“Eh heh. See?” Speaking of not being Deseado. A woman dressed all in pale pink with a fur coat sauntered past on high heels and I swore her purse barked at me. She paused in front of a window, fixing her lipstick. I halted instantly, staring rudely. A moment later a tiny dog with huge ears and big black eyes popped its head out of the purse. It shook so hard as it stared at me and barked. I leaned in a little closer. _That_ was a dog? A dog with a sparkling diamond collar! Fuck me, look at the rocks on that thing!

“Grrrr!”

“OWWW!” The little turd bit my nose. Those were some sharp teeth.

Without even noticing a thing the lady walked off as I rubbed my nose. Luckily it wasn't bleeding. I had seen rats bigger than that. Why the hell would someone want a dog that tiny? And in a purse? The dog had legs … right? At least I hoped it had legs.

“Spike, you coming?”

I turned to find Jet a fair distance down the street. “Yeah.” I jogged to catch up to him. “Just saw a lady with a bejeweled rat in a bag.”

Jet lit a cigarette as he walked. “Oh? You mean the one with the chihuahua?”

“Chi-what-what?”

“Chihuahua. It's a kind of dog.”

“That's what I thought.” I scratched my head. “Why do people keep them?”

“Chihuahuas? I guess some people find them cute.”

I huffed a breath, the scar on my leg aching for no good reason. What had done that to me had been a real dog. “I meant dogs in general.”

He blinked down at me. “They're pets, companions … ”

“Pests.”

Taking the hint, Jet didn't remark further as we walked down the rest of the way toward the dockyards. It was another bright day with a warm breeze. Too chilly to swim, but a nice day to be by the ocean with the salty wind.

The ships rocked on the water, crews loaded and unloaded their freight. It was by far busier than downtown's strolling crowd. There was something in the air. I felt it even before my first glimpse of the guy trying to act casual as he checked out some unattended crates.

Just as I locked on him, Jet did the same. A laser focus on the out of place man keeping to the shadows of a warehouse building as he checked the code on a crate of cargo. Jet nudged me, “You wanna make up for yesterday's stunt?”

“Tsh, don't think I should have to … but what do you got in mind?”

His eyes shifted to a point on the dock. The message crystal clear. He wanted me to cut the prick off from getting away.

Before Jet could blink I was off like a shot, slinking silently along the crates and laying in wait at the end of the warehouse. No … I glanced up at the ladder. Not here. I hustled up the ladder and onto the roof, cracking my knuckles. From this vantage point I watched as Jet slowly approached.

This would-be thief was a joke. Far too obvious. Far too hesitant. Far too caught in the act.

Jet called out, “Hey, you lost, buddy?”

The moment he spoke the thief's head went up and he bolted my way. The only way he had left. I kept hold of the ladder and swung down. Fate had him turn and look up at the exact moment my shoe struck his nose and sent him sprawling backward. He had tried to shout but it came out a garbled cry, cut short.

I landed neatly enough as Jet grabbed the guy's wrists and cuffed him.

All I could do was grin. I expected some sort of remark about my behavior. After all, I was on a roll. Instead, Jet hauled the man up to his feet and with his other hand he offered me a high five. “You gotta teach me that move, slick.”

Heh, if I did whoever was on the receiving end of that much momentum wouldn't be waking up.


End file.
